John Jones, of course, made large the day America was born;
He fired a hundred signal-guns to greet the opening morn;
From his cool summer home, a small quaint city 'mongst the isles
That wreathe the broad St. Lawrence' face into its sweetest smiles.
All 'mongst the near Canadian lands the echoes forced their way,
Which sent them back, thus helping much to celebrate the day.
And as the morn with Freedom's sun grew radiant more and more,
A hundred neighbor-islanders came sailing to his shore;
Their tiny frigates decked with flags of patriotic hue,
And faces full of joy and tan, made eloquent the view;
And in a grove where freedom's air was whispering overhead,
When dinners and orations ceased, the following lines were read:
