James E. Caldwell

GRANDEUR is written on thy throne,

Beauty encompasseth thy mien;

The glory of the North alone,

Is thine, O Ottawa, my Queen.

Here as the years of promise roll

Shall gather all a nation’s pride;

The great of intellect and soul

Shall build a city, vast and wide.

Here shall the sculptor’s vision stand

For ever caught in burnished bronze;

Roof, tower, and column, nobly plann’d,

Shall greet the future’s mystic dawns.

Here shall the plunging torrent’s wrath

Strange kindness to the toiler show;

Here o’er the steel, the watery path,

The East and West commingling flow.

Here shall the human wants that lead

To hunger, thirst, and sore distress,

Be met before their cruel need

By trade shorn of its sordidness.

Not here shall shelter foul disease

In sunless lairs bereft of sky;

Nor Death be hidden in the lees

Of fountains which man’s needs supply.

A press shall flourish, kind but grave,

Well recking of the trusts they bear;

Unbought of wealth, unawed by knave,

The truth shall modestly declare.

Like honeyed flowers that call the bees,

The hoarded lore of every age

Shall gather gladsome companies

Of lovers of the printed page.

Here shall the code of Righteousness

Be set to common speech once more,

And noble deeds shall daily bless

Of which men only dreamed before.

And here the ancient hills appeal

To all that most endures in man,

Rebuking hate and strident zeal,

For ah, how brief our breathing span!

Beloved of cities thou shalt be—

Wise, fair, strong, joyous and serene—

Once more accept my fealty—

My love, O Ottawa, my Queen!