We let Ontario farmers sing
About the joys the woods do bring,
But we in regions of Northwest
Do think prairie farms the best,
For those poor men who swing the axe
On their strength 'tis a heavy tax,
For several years they naught can grow
While from the first we plow and sow,
And while we plow we don't get thumps
By running it against the stumps,
And where wild Buffalo now doth feed
There very soon they'll sow the seed,
Where Indian wigwams now do stand
Will be the site of cities grand,
And where the deer and wolf doth roam
Millions will build each happy home,
So quick as if by magic wand
They will arise o'er the whole land,
But this one fact we won't deny
Ontario she can supply,
For so skilfully she doth invent
Each agricultural implement.