Won’t you come to me in Canada

Across the broad Atlantic, in Canada's domain,
A colonist was working for the lass he longed to gain.
Inside his little cabin, he pictured day by day
The image of his sweetheart, with longing he would say:

Won't you come, come, come to me in Canada
In Canada, in Canada?
Won't you come, come, come to me in Canada
Far away across the foam?
With the church bells ringing on our wedding day
We'll drive away upon the sleigh,
So if you'll be my wife, we'll be happy for life
In my cosy Canadian home 

The girl at home was waiting to be his cherished wife
To share his little cabin, and to cling to him through life 
She knew that he would claim her when with fortune he was blessed 
And often she would fancy he was calling from the West: 

The columnist succeeded, the lass became his own 
And now the little cabin to a larger one has grown 
And as they sit together, beneath the maple tree 
He tells how he called her long ago across the sea: