On Christmas Day of eighty-nine,
The sun all day did pleasant shine;
The cows they would not eat their hay,
But o’er the pasture lands did stray.
Such winter day is seldom seen,
Instead of white the fields were green;
Colts and young cattle they did play,
Happy as in the month of May.
But Canadians do delight,
To see the landscape robed in white;
To them the sweetest music dwells
In merry tinkle of sleigh bells.
And land doth more abundant yield,
When the snow mantle covers field;
And farmer quick can load his sleigh,
And cheerful drive o’er icy way.
For true Canadians love the snow,
And like to hear old Boreas blow;
For with just pride they all do boast,
They love the winter’s cold and frost.