The western fires are fading to their embers,
The purples change to gray;
As summers fade into their bleak Novembers,
So dies the light of day.

This evening yon Olympic rifts are covered
With snow-lines just the same
As when the white drifts on the high lands hovered
Before Vancouver came.

Long ere our fathers found these peaks defiant —
This land of vast surmise;
Its forests with each huge, storm-crested giant
Stood signalling the skies.

From all those waiting years — those silent pages
Of Universal Thought,
The mighty purpose of unmeasured ages
Was into being wrought.

August Dominion, robed in sapphire glory,
Beneath thy skies we bow,
And pray that all thy sons, in deed and story,
May be as great as thou!