What land more beautiful than ours?
What other land more blest?
The South with all its wealth of flowers?
The prairies of the West?
Oh no! there's not a fairer land
Beneath yon azure dome—
Where Peace holds Plenty by the hand,
And Freedom finds a home.
The slave who but her name hath heard,
Repeats it day and night,
And envies every little bird
That takes its northward flight.
As to the Polar star they turn
Who brave a pathless sea:
So the oppressed in secret yearn,
Dear native land, for thee!
How many loving memories throng
Round Britain's stormy coast!
Renowned in story and in song,
Her glory is our boast.
With loyal hearts we still abide
Beneath her sheltering wing,—
While with true patriot love and pride,
To Canada we cling.
We wear no haughty tyrant's chain,—
We bend no servile knee,
When to the Mistress of the main
We pledge our fealty.
She binds us with the cords of love,—
All others we disown;
The rights we owe to God above,
We yield to him alone.
May He our future course direct
By his unerring hand;
Our laws and liberties protect,
And bless our native land.