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The Princess Pat’s

A touch of the plain and the prairie,
   A bit of the Motherland, too;
 A strain of the fur-trapper wary,
   A blend of the old and the new;
 A bit of the pioneer splendor
   That opened the wilderness’ flats,
 A touch of the home-lover, tender,
   You’ll find in the boys they call Pat’s.
 
 The glory and grace of the maple,
   The strength that is born of the wheat,
 The pride of a stock that is staple,
   The bronze of a midsummer heat;
 A blending of wisdom and daring,
   The best of a new land, and that’s
 The regiment gallantly bearing
   The neat little title of Pat’s.
 
 A bit of the man who has neighbored
   With mountains and forests and streams,
 A touch of the man who has labored
   To model and fashion his dreams;
 The strength of an age of clean living,
   Of right-minded fatherly chats,
 The best that a land could be giving
   Is there in the breasts of the Pat’s.
Other works by Edgar Albert Guest...



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