We are men of many nations, but what matter blood or creed
When you're packing o'er a wilderness of snow?
Brothers e'en as God has made us, wanderers, 'twas so decreed,
Brothers, builders, in the lands of long ago.
Some have spent the long vacation, some have come to
ne'er return;
Saint and sinner, fool and felon, rich or poor,
Seek the world's deserted places and the lessons there
to learn,
In the land of new beginnings evermore.
Hard as hell, yet sweet as heaven, cursed by those who
love it best,
Grim, unyielding in its law, the law of man,
Some have said good-bye forever, shrinking e'en before
the test,
Others stay and learn to love and understand.
We are parted for a season—in that season one has gone
For to sit beneath the upper chamber's dome.
Why he came is still his secret, but the man in him
was born
As he sought and trailed with us the great alone.
He's the goal of seeking mammas, he's the idol of the fair,
With his past transgressions buried out of sight.
He's forgot his beans and bacon in a theatre supper's glare,
And his days he's mostly living in the night.
Still we took him as a comrade, asking nothing, judging less,
One of many whom you send us o'er the foam.
O'er the singing sands of Egypt, to the Northland's icy breast,
In the lonely lands the past to e'en atone.
So we never ask them questions, for the story's e'er the same,
But before the dying campfire's dusky glow
In the silence they have told us how they played and
lost the game;
Why remember? E'en forget, 'twas long ago.
THE PRICE OF THE LINE
Only three and a starving dog, surveying, my God! my God!
And all the rest who had started were lying beneath the sod.
All gone but three, the three of us, it couldn't be very long
Before the wild would sing again its cursedly mocking song.
It seemed as though we once had dreamed of the
careless survey crew
Who started in the summertime with cares that are ever few—
The reckless men who tame the wild, encamping around its throne;
We tried to think, but gave it up and waited the end alone.