An Ode for Thanksgiving Day.

Land blest with youth and strength, with wealth and peace—
These are thy dower with which to rear a realm
Where men shall own their full enfranchisement
In recompense for purer purposes
Than elder umpires' sordid gluttonies.

These, are senescent now. The frosts of Fate
Have touched their Tree of Life: the blighted leaves
Are dropping swift and yellowing in decay
Autumnal:—and in His own time Who plans
The universal destiny and doom,
Profoundest glacial snows shall cover them
And no requick'ning sun shall rise to melt
Their gelid grave. Forever they shall lie
Wrapt up in silence in their lethal bed.

But thou, young Titan of the West, whose years
Are leafy yet, thy branches full of sap,
And green already with Life's ampler deeds,
Give thanks, this day, for thy predestined task!
For He whose throne is everywhere, and guides
The courses of the million million worlds,

Hath consecrated thee—thy youth and strength,
Thy peace and gifts of earthly plenitude—
To service for our race—disquieted
By Mammon's crew—till we at length behold
The Dayspring of the Brotherhood of Man.

Give thanks, and trust thy sons, O Canada—
Their prayers are with thee and their present deeds
Are fateful of the nobler race to come!
E'en now upon thy brow the radiance shines
Of lofty Statehood, unassoiled and free,
While unseen hands unfold thy destiny.