O Canada! my Canada! our fateful foe is trip’d,
The ship of state has weather’d the worst, the prize they sought has slip’d,
And so they stay–aw, beauty, eh–the populace exhaling,
While fallow lie the separatist fields, the vassal glum and glaring,
But O tempora! O morris! O jeez–
O the stains of hatred splay
Ou dans le dock, la reve etait,
Fallen cold and dead, eh.

O Canada! my Canada! rise up, shepherds, and skoal!
Rise up–for thee the flag is wrung–for you the doughnut hole,
For you the beers, the Cuban smokes–for you the mass a-writhing,
For you, they call, a clear call that cannot be decried:
Hear Canada! dear bother!
Their aim beneath disdain!
It was some dream deferred they had,
Fallen cold and dead, eh.

My Canada does not answer, his lips agape and wet,
The celebration’s drunken in, the ales hale and well met,
The state is anchor’d safe and whole, its union momentary;
From fearsome fight, the victor ship still faces future wary.
Expostulate, O Anglophones,
As I in mourning may
Walk Quebec, the sovereign state
Fallen cold and dead, eh.