To Nova Scotia.

OH brothers, friends, down by the sea,
We can thy voices hear,
And painful is their tone, and free,
Upon each brother's ear.
We hear each voice, pitch'd strong and high,
And, could we see you now,
Our hearts would heave another sigh,
At each beclouded brow.
We hear thy voice, from day to day,
In one long, doleful strain,
Oh tell us why, oh brethren say
Why sounds that voice of pain.
Are we not one, in race and creed,
Rul'd by one gracious queen?
And we have all receiv'd our meed
Of praise and pelf, I ween.
Why vex her now, who's rul'd so long
Upon her virtuous throne?
Why sing her such a doleful song,
And send her such a groan?
And why annoy that whiten'd head,
Our land's adopted son,
Who wisely drew love's slender thread,
And wedded us in one.
And firmer yet he wish'd to bind
Us to our country's weal,
And see, plann'd by his master mind,
One band of glitt'ring steel,
One shining track, which stretches far,
From wild Columbia's shore,
To where those doleful voices are,
And the Atlantic's roar.
Oh brethren, friends down by the sea,
With us your voices raise,
Instead of groans, oh, shout with glee,
With us, one shout of praise.
And trust him, brethren, trust us, too,
Seek not from us to go;
Our country's good is weal for you,
And common, all our woe.