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The Ballad of the Northern Land
(A Folk Song for Canada)
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1
In eighteen hundred twelve, the cannons roared,
A young land stood with sword and board,
With Brock at Queenston, brave and true,
And Laura Secord carried through.
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2
She walked the woods with silent tread,
To warn of plans the redcoats dread.
A whisper passed from tree to tree—
The roots of freedom run deep and free.
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3
The fur trade waned, the forests called,
From Hudson Bay to Montreal,
With voyageurs and bark canoe,
The rivers told what we once knew.
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4
Then westward ran the iron rail,
Through mountain mist and snow-blind gale.
The hammer rang, the spike was gold—
A ribbon tied to dreams grown bold.
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5
Macdonald raised the nation’s spine,
A thread through rock and timberline.
While on Red River’s silent shore,
Louis Riel cried out for more.
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6
A voice for those the Crown forgot,
For Métis lands and lives they bought.
He stood his ground, then stood alone—
A noose was tied where peace had grown.
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7
The fisheries fed the east coast pride,
With cod and salt and ocean tide.
But quotas came, the stocks grew thin,
And storms rolled in again, again.
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8
In muddy fields of Vimy Ridge,
Our boys held fast, then crossed the bridge.
A maple leaf in foreign mud—
A nation born in fire and blood.
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9
The Great Depression struck like steel,
The hungry lined from mill to mill.
Yet fiddle tunes and kitchen light
Kept hopes alive through blackest night.
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10
Then once again the war drums rolled,
And Halifax lit up with coal.
From Dieppe’s shores to Ortona’s walls,
Our fallen sons still hear the calls.
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11
The UN flag flew proud and high,
In Egypt’s dust or Korea’s sky.
We kept the peace where others ran—
A gentle voice, a steady hand.
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12
Joey Smallwood’s island dream,
Brought Newfoundland to the Canadian team.
With boats and boots and outport pride,
They joined the fold with hearts wide-eyed.
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13
The sixties roared with Expo's flame,
And Trudeau rose to bold acclaim.
He danced through question, law, and line—
"Just watch me" echoed down through time.
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14
But darker days in Montreal,
The FLQ made its grim call.
A poet died, a country strained,
And civil peace was barely gained.
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15
The Charter came, a bright new page,
For rights to last through any age.
With Meech Lake lost and voices torn,
Quebec still sang both proud and worn.
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16
The Arctic called with melting ice,
The North awoke with warming price.
Inuit lands and northern skies
Looked south and asked for just replies.
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17
The Red River rose, the floods came fast,
But neighbours stood and held the blast.
From Winnipeg to Cape Breton shore,
We lifted each, we built once more.
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18
The loonie soared, then took a dive,
But still we worked, we still survived.
With oil and grain, with snow and stone,
The land was wide, but not alone.
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19
The Mounties rode in scarlet pride,
Their legacy both hailed and tried.
For truths long buried came to light—
The past would haunt the quiet night.
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20
The schools of pain, the stolen years,
The calls for truth, the flood of tears.
Orange shirts and empty shoes—
A nation learning, slow to choose.
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21
The towers fell, the world turned cold,
And Canada stood firm and bold.
We welcomed many through our door,
Each voice now part of something more.
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22
With wildfire smoke and floods and drought,
The earth cried out with rising shout.
Yet turbines turned and green grew near—
The North still finds a way to steer.
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23
A virus came, the world went still,
But kindness climbed the highest hill.
We sang from porches, masked and far—
Still stitched beneath the northern star.
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24
Now comes a time both rough and wide,
With truth and tech and clashing pride.
But still we build, and still we try—
With steady hearts beneath the sky.
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25
From battle’s smoke to silent snow,
From one small spark the tall flames grow.
O Canada, still rough, still grand—
We write your song with calloused hand.