THE MAPLE TREE.

Well have Canadians chosen thee

As the emblem of their land,

Thou noble, spreading maple tree,

Lord of the forest grand;

Through all the changes Time has made,

Thy woods so deep and hoar

Have given their homesteads pleasant shade,

And beauty to their shore.

Say, what can match in splendor rare

Thy foliage, brightly green,

Thy leaves that wave in summer's air,

Glossy as satin sheen,

When Spring returns the first art thou,

On mountain or in vale,

With springing life and budding bough,

To tell the joyous tale.

In Autumn's hours of cheerless gloom,

How glowing is the dye

Of the crimson robe thou dost assume,

Though it only be to die;

Like the red men who, long years ago,

Reposed beneath thy shade,

And wore a smiling lip and brow

On the pyre their foes had made.

And e'en in Winter fair art thou,

With many a brilliant gem,

That might adorn fair lady's brow,

Or deck a diadem;

And better than thy beauty rare,

Or shade thou givest free,

The life-stream of thy branches fair

Thou gen'rous, brave old tree!

Warmly we pray no deed of harm

May fright thy peaceful shade,

May'st thou ne'er see in war's alarm

Contending foes arrayed,

But, smiling down on peasants brave,

On honest tranquil toil,

Thy branches ever brightly wave,

Above a happy soil.