Know'st thou the land of the mountains that rise Till their summits are lost in the depths of the skies? Their granite foundations are far underground, Where the gold and the coal and the iron abound; And the sun on their white-headed majesty flings The radiance of crowns and the purple of kings. Know'st thou the land of these citadels tall, With their ramparts and battlements, wall upon wall?
Know'st thou the land where the ice and the snow On all things a magical beauty bestow? Then the earth is a bride and the tingling air wine, The frosty sky sparkles, the Pleiades shine, And the bright "merry dancers" in gorgeous array, Like ghosts of dead sunbeams, come forth to their play. Know'st thou the land of the sleigh-bells, the land Of the warm fireside and the welcoming hand?
Know'st thou the land where kind Nature has given In earth's beauty and grandeur a foretaste of heaven; Where History lingers, enthralled with the view Of as splendid exploits as the world ever knew; Where Industry reaps the rewards of her toil In the wealth of the cities, the fruits of the soil? Know'st thou the land which the Muses regard, The land of the sculptor, the singer, the bard?
Know'st thou the land where the spell of the past Is over the mind irresistibly cast; Where the present fulfills the fond hopes of the years, The dreams of romancers, the visions of seers, Where the future inspires with a prospect sublime, Maturing the fairest fruition of time? Know'st thou this land of Heaven's favor possest, The fortunate land of a destiny blest? Know'st thou the land? Know'st thou the land? 'Tis the land of my home, my belov'd native land.
Thee best of leaves I love, In forest or in grove, O Maple Leaf; O thou which art the sign Of this dear land of mine, What loveliness is thine, O Maple Leaf!
Naught can with thee compare, On earth or in the air, O Maple Leaf; Wondrous thy beauties are; Thy form is like a star, But thou art not afar, O Maple Leaf.
When drops of dew adorn Thy surface in the morn, O Maple Leaf, No hue so fair is seen, In silk or satin's sheen, As thy rich shade of green, O Maple Leaf.
No music in my ear Is half so sweet to hear, O Maple Leaf, As that which thou dost make When winds of summer shake The branches of the brake, O Maple Leaf.