The ancient poets ne’er did dream That Canada was land of cream, They ne’er imagined it could flow In this cold land of ice and snow, Where everything did solid freeze,

To night the children meet with gl… To view the fruits on Christmas T… And when its beauties we behold We’re very sorry we are old. The children all they have good ca…

Our ancient customs to renew, We meet to honour St. Andrew, He was of the Jewish nation; A fisherman by occupation. No warlike knight with lance and s…

Our muse it doth refuse to sing Of cheese made early in the spring… When cows give milk from spring fo… You cannot make a good cheddar. The quality is often vile

For erratic style he leads van, Wildly, wayward Walt Whitman. *Mathew Arnold saw fit to say tha… the National Poet of America, but… him; one of Longfellows grandest p…

Delivered at opening of Odd-Fello… Dereham now hath wealthy yoemen Whose fathers overcame the foemen… The enemy they boldly slew Was mighty forests they did hew,

At the announcement that Britain… the Hungarian Patriot and orator,… England, that the British Lion wa… When the British Lion offered aid… Round many lips a sneer of serious…

Who was expected to attend a Banq… in London nearly thirty years ago.… were asking for Brother Abel. When we went down to London in mi… A brother looked at me as though…

Written at the time of the disaste… ’Twas on a pleasant eve in May. Just as the sun shed its last ray, The bell it rang, citizens to warn… For lo! a fire appears in barn.

Impromptu lines delivered at the l… of the church on Culloden road, wi… In this quiet spot, this day of J… Which will not be forgotten soon, For when your little church on hil…

Moore found the ballads of Green… Were oft obscured beneath the soil As miner digging in a mine Finds rubbish 'mong the gold so fi… So Moore placed dross in the wast…

Goldsmith wrote Deserted Village, Now again reduced to tillage ; Once happiest village of the plain… Place now you look for it in vain… There but one man he doth make ric…

We now do sing a new theme, It is prodigious power of steam ; And our little fast steam horse, How he works with mighty force. Instead of hay and oats, we thrust

The mind thats sad it doth relax The humor of the witty Saxe. He puts us in a cheerful mood, Mirthful as our own Tom Hood.

When this country it was woody, Its great champion, Mrs. Moody, She showed she had both pluck and… In her work, roughing in the bush. For there all alone she will dwell…