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Maid of the West-Land

by Robert J. C. Stead

Heart that is free as the open air,
Eyes like the beams of the morn that rise
Over our prairies, bright and fair,
Brow like the silver of sunset skies,
Cheeks with a beauty that glorifies,
Tresses of sunlight, through and through,
Figure and form that we idolize,
Maid of the West-land, here's to you!

Hope that is broad as your face is rare,
Yearning that unto the uttermost cries,
Soul that itself is a breath of prayer,
Heaven-sent spirit in womanly guise;
Tender caresses that minimize
The labors of life with their pain and rue,
Loving affection that never dies—
Maid of the West-land, here's to you!

Courage that rises to do and dare,
Spell that entangles the sage and wise
From venturesome toe to your crown of hair
Ravishing beauties that hypnotize;
Many the man for your favor vies,
Well may he plead for the favor, too;
Twentieth Century's greatest prize—
Maid of the West-land, here's to you!

Maid of the West, in your wistful eyes,
Tenderly deep as the western blue,
The glorious hope of our future lies—
Maid of the West-land, here's to you!