All for the years that are yet to come, sowers who
never will reap,
Send thro' the darkness the call of dawn, waking
eternity's sleep;
Hard in the hardness of harder things, hardness we
never have seen,
Men who have finished the Master's work, bridging the
space between.
We, who must reap of their toil to-day, harvesting
seed they have sown,
Are we forgetting the price they paid, these heroes
we've never known?
Are we neglecting the debt we owe, the debt we can
ne'er repay,
Carelessly viewing their finished work, indifferently on
our way?
Sons of the Survey, sons of the wild, sons of the
prodigal son,
Boys who are treading the lonely way, fellows of whom
I have sung;
Let us remember the deeds they've done, leaving
forever their name,
Lettered in gold, and the story told, for aye on the
scroll of fame.
THE BREAKER OF THE TRAIL
(The Spirit of the Land to the Old Pioneer)
Out of the vastness I heard a voice
That echoed from sea to sea,
Singing the song of the olden years,
The song of the years to be;
Tender and sad, as it sought its way,
Through hovel to banquet hall,
Seeking for those who would understand,
The love of the mother call.
* * * * * * *
I see you in turreted mansions,
My children of long ago,
I see you as derelicts drifting,
As wrecks on the rivers flow;
And I call, with a soul o'erflowing,
Forsaken, but yearning yet,
To hold you again to my bosom,
The child I can ne'er forget.
Long have I waited for your return
As faces have come and gone,
Long have I brooded o'er silent camps,
'Midst trails that your feet have worn:
Waiting in vain, for I see you now
Too old for the lonely trail,
And I in my sorrow must leave you,
My children, who did not fail.
Fain would I hold you close to my breast,
My child of the vanished years,
Where is the love that is true as mine,
Mingled with sorrowing tears?
Ah, how I miss you, mid'st faces new,
True, daring, but not the same,
'Tis you, ever you, who have left me
Alone who can soothe my pain.