"The Riders of the Plains" by E. Pauline Johnson
Who is it lacks the knowledge? Who are the curs
that dare
To whine and sneer that they do not fear the whelps
in the Lion's lair?
But we of the North will answer, while life in the
North remains,
Let the curs beware lest the whelps they dare are
the Riders of the Plains;
For these are the kind whose muscle makes the
power of the Lion's jaw,
And they keep the peace of our people and the
honour of British law.
A woman has painted a picture,—'tis a neat little
bit of art
The critics aver, and it roused up for her the love
of the big British heart.
'Tis a sketch of an English bulldog that tigers would
scarce attack,
And round and about and beneath him is painted
the Union Jack,
With its blaze of colour, and courage, its daring in
every fold,
And underneath is the title, " What we have we'll
hold."
'Tis a picture plain as a mirror, but the reflex it
contains
Is the counterpart of the life and heart of the Riders
of the Plains;
For like to that flag and that motto, and the power
of that bulldog's jaw,
They keep the peace of our people and the honour
of British law.
These are the fearless fighters, whose life in the open
lies,
Who never fail on the prairie trail 'neath the Terri-
torial skies,
Who have laughed in the face of the bullets and the
edge of the rebels' steel,
Who have set their ban on the lawless man with his
crime beneath their heel
These are the men who battle the blizzards, the
suns, the rains,
These are the famed that the North has named the
"Riders of the Plains,"
And theirs is the might and the meaning and the
strength of the bulldog's jaw,
While they keep the peace of the people and the
honour of British law.
These are the men of action, who need not the world's
renown,
For their valour is known to England's throne as a
gem in the British crown;
These are the men who face the front, whose courage
the world may scan,
The men who are feared by the felon, but are loved
by the honest man;
These are the marrow, the pith, the cream, the best
that the blood contains,
Who have cast their days in the valiant ways of the
Riders of the Plains;
And theirs is the kind whose muscle makes the
power of old England's jaw,
And they keep the peace of her people and the
honour of British law.
Then down with the cur that questions,— let hims
link to his craven den,—
For he daren't deny our hot reply as to "who are
our mounted men."
He shall honour them east and westward, he shall
honour them south and north,
He shall bare his head to that coat of red wherever
that red rides forth.
'Tis well that he knows the fibre that the great
North-West contains,
The North-West pride in her men that ride on the
Territorial plains,—
For of such as these are the muscles and the teeth
in the Lion's jaw,
And they keep the peace of our people and the
honour of British law.
• The above is the Territorial pet name for the North-West Mounted Police, and is in general usage throughout Assiniboia, Saskatchewan and Alberta. At a dinner party in Boston the writer was asked, "Who are the North-West Mounted Police?" and when told they were the pride of Canada's fighting men the questioner sneered and replied, "Ah! then they are only some of your British Lion's whelps. We are not afraid of them." His companions applauded the remark.