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Awake, my country, the hour is great with change!

Under this gloom which yet obscures the land,

From ice-blue strait and stern Laurentian range

From peaks, our western bounds command

A deep voice stirs, vibrating in our ears

As if their own hearts throbbed that thundered forth a sound

Wherein who hearkens wisely hears the voice

The voice of the desire

the desire of this strong North, True North

The True North whose heart of fire

yet knows not its own desire

Clearly, but dreams, and murmurs in the dream

And lo, the hour of dreams is done

Lo, on the hill, the hills, the gleam!

Awake, my country, the hour of dreams is done!

Doubt not, nor dread the greatness of thy fate.

Tho’ faint souls fear the keen confronting sun,

And fain would bid the morn of splendor wait

Though dreamers, rapt in starry visions,

Cry “Lo thy future, thy faith, thy fame!”

And stretch vain hands to stars, thy fame is nigh

Here in hearth, here is home, here is  name

Here in hearth, here is home, here is  name

What fields of peace, so well secured

What vales of plenty calm floods supply

Shall not our love, our love this rough sweet land make sure

Her bounds preserve, Her bounds preserve, although we die.

O strong hearts, hearts of the North,

Let flame your loyalty forth,

Till earth shall know the True, True North,

the Child of Nations, True North by name, True North by name,

by name,

True North.

poetry: Charles G.D. Roberts

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