O Canada our home and native land,
the country sang, still celebrating its brand new shiny red maple leaf flag,
still dancing in the streets, long past discord, well beyond fractious debate
over how we came to be.
True patriot love in all thy son's command
Except there along the tracks in the woods north of Kenora, lay little Charlie Wenjack,
thin cotton clothing soaked, frozen, stuck to his skin, nothing but a screw top glass jar
in his pocket, keeping dry six wooden matches.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise
Nobody knew Cecilia Jeffrey but there she was, had a school named after her:
Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School, 400 miles south of Charlie's home.
They'd taken him, his siblings and most of his friends, weren't about to let him go.
the true north strong and free
Charlie couldn't practice his religion anymore, wasn't allowed to speak his language;
so he whispered to his brother, sang to him in the night; paid later with beatings
and ridicule; he was tired of being their heathen, he was tired of not being free.
O Canada we stand on guard for thee
Charlie Wenjack was 12 years old when he ran. 400 miles nothing but a number.
Charlie Wenjack died alone and cold,
hungry,
probably scared,
just trying to get home.
O Canada, glorious and free.
O Canada, with breaking hearts we see thee.
Oh.
Canada.
Oh.
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