O country of sweet sheaves, hear my humble invitation;
The branches are weeping.
There has been a struggle in the baser realms,
The virtue of the earth has been shaken.
I bring with me the spirit of Canada,
A pleading to your noble station.
The world has seen your heart despised.
I spoke to you and you replied.
When I sing of revolution in the dead of night,
Then answer me with all your might.
This is the moment of the turning,
and it is not for the weak;
Much is at stake.
I prophesied the sanguine salt was guileless,
And chunks of coal were your revenge in darkness.
The oyster sun spoke over the sea,
Churning the machinery of democracy.
I was born into the quiet moments of Windsor,
I am a prophet under the order of Samuel.
Canada’s gates will never be shut;
I am last to call my people home.
I am in it ’till the bitter end.