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.