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Though the Queen of many nations, Centre of each Royal scene, Better than I love my mother, Does the Princess love the Queen?
Are Prince Leopold and Arthur, Though within a palace bred, Dearer than my little brothers Playing 'neath the cottage shed?
There's a group of Royal sisters Cl.u.s.tering round the English throne, But I know they are not truer, Better sisters than mine own.
Hark! it is the trumpet sounding; At the Prince of Prussia's side Standeth now her Royal Highness; Oh, I would not be the bride!
For a manly voice hath whispered, "Dearer than my life thou art!"
What care I who rules a kingdom If I rule in Jamie's heart?
I am but a peasant's daughter, And the wealthy pa.s.s me by,-- But there's not in merry England A happier maid than I.
A NATION'S DESIRE.
G.o.d hear our fervent prayer, G.o.d bless the royal pair, G.o.d save the Queen!
Guide them in all their ways, And may their wedded days Be ordered to thy praise; G.o.d save the Queen!
The waves will soon divide Thee and thy home, young bride; G.o.d save the Queen!
But over land and sea Warm hearts will follow thee, First rose of England's tree; G.o.d save the Queen.
CANADA'S WELCOME.
A nation's hearty welcome take, Heir to a mighty throne; Thrice welcome! for old England's sake, Thy mother's, and thine own.
From crowded street, from hillside green, From fair Canadian vales, The prayer goes up--G.o.d bless the Queen!
G.o.d bless the Prince of Wales!
The rich and poor, the great and small Their voices join as one; Victoria's name is dear to all, So is Victoria's Son.
Their tribute other queens have laid Upon the land and sea; But never earthly monarch swayed So many hearts as she.
And for her young and gallant heir A kindred love prevails; G.o.d hear a nation's fervent prayer!
G.o.d bless the Prince of Wales!
OUR NATIVE LAND.
[This was probably written in the early part of the year 1861, before Lincoln's Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation had given deliverance to the captives, and when "the north star" was an object dear to many a slave who longed to breathe the free air of Canada. The Rev. E. H. Dewart says of it: "This spirited lyric is alike creditable to the talents, patriotism, and independence of its author. Its loyalty is an intelligent attainment, free from blind prejudice and crouching adulation."]
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 G.o.d 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.
THE APPEAL.
[It will be remembered that 1861 closed with an alarming prospect of war between England and the United States, growing partly out of the arrest of Mason and Slidell on board the British steams.h.i.+p Trent. Of course had war been declared Canada would have been involved. On Christmas of that year therefore Miss JOHNSON wrote this appeal, which was published in a Canadian paper.]
To prayer! to prayer! O ye who love Your country's peace, your country's weal, To Him who rules supreme above, In this dark hour of peril kneel.
To prayer! to prayer! before the cry "To arms!" shall make your spirit quake,-- And ere ye dream of danger nigh The dark portentous war-cloud break.
So long hath Peace o'er hill and vale Waved her white banner to the breeze, We thought her smiles would never fail, And only heard from o'er the seas The murmur of an angry host, The clang of arms, the cannon's roar,-- How false our hope! how vain our boast!
War threatens our beloved sh.o.r.e.
Great G.o.d! to whom the nations seem Like dust that gathers on the scales, A drop within a mighty stream, A breath amid the northern gales, We pray, the hearts of men dispose So that the sounds of war may cease, And nations who should ne'er be foes Embrace, and pledge themselves to Peace.
I LOVE THE LAND WHERE I WAS BORN.
[The following poem appeared in the _Sherbrooke (P. Q.) Gazette_, sometime in the winter of 1863, and was the last article prepared by Miss JOHNSON for the press. It is of special interest for having been written during the dark days of the war in the United States, and when the sympathy of England and Canada for the North was by many questioned.]
I love the land where I was born, 'Tis a n.o.ble land and good; It has many a field of wheat and corn Where once the forest stood; It has many a town and city grand, Where the Savage used to roam; To the poor of every other land It offers a peaceful home.
