Classic Poem

Where all the rivers northward run
Beyond the Height of Land,
And where the law is just a gun,
The judge a steady hand,
The feeble aspen of the drouth
Becomes a giant thing,
The quivering aspen of the South
Becomes an arctic king.

And so the man who journeys where
The road to Hudson's lies,
His wine the sharp Canadian air,
His compass in the skies,
Grows stronger like the aspen tree
That in the North appears —
Takes on the stature presently
Of arctic pioneers.