An Indian once sat in his birch bark canoe
He sang as he sailed o'er the water so
blue
He sang of the day when the land was his
own
Long before those pale faces amongst them
were known
Oh first when those white men they came
to our land
We treated them like brothers and gave
them a hand
We knew they were weary in need of repose
Never thinking those white men would soon
be our foes
Oh soon they began to impose on our rights
Their numbers increased and they drove
us in flight
They drove us away from our own native
shore
Where the smoke of our campfire burns
there no more
They built their tall houses all over the
land
Way out on the Prairie their tall houses
stand
The beaver the otter the hunters have
slain
And they've driven the reindeer far over
the plain
Oh the graves of our forefathers where
are they now
They are rudely trodden or torn by the
plough
Our children have wandered distracted
and poor
And the graves of our forefathers will
visit no more
Now once more I will wander to that once
happy place
Our wives and our sweethearts we then
shall embrace
Till the great spirit guides us away from
all pain
To that bright happy land where we'll
all meet again