216 The Laurentian Hills 



And slender spires of spruce trees, in serried 

 ranks they grow. 



A gorgeous carpet underneath upon the rocks ar j 

 spread, 



The different patterns blended might form a Ti- 

 tan's bed. 



White granite peeps above it with streaks of red- 



ish hue 

 With God's own arch above us! stars twinkling 



in the blue. 

 Yes! I'm riding on the bosom of the oldest land 



that's known, 

 And Old Time, through countless ages, over it 



has ever flown, 



When England's land was lifted above the ocean 

 blue,, 



The Old World is not the oldest, it should be call- 

 ed the new. 



O ! could rocks but tell the story their rugged 

 cliffs have know, 



They could tell us of this continent, and how itd 

 its slowly grown. 



How the beds laid down by water, in ocean, river, 



lake 

 Through all the changing aeons, from these rocks 



their tribute take. 

 For the streams, (those burden bearers), on 



ocean floor have spread 

 The loads they carry ever, to deposit on her bed. 



