Produced by Al Haines Rhymes of the Survey and Frontier BY GEORGE BLACKSTONE FIELD Toronto William Briggs 1911 Copyright. Canada, 1911 by GEORGE B. FIELD TO MY FATHER F. B. FIELD AND MY FRIEND C. D. MACKINTOSH THE FORMER FOR HIS INTEREST IN HIS SON'S LIFE ABROAD AND THE LATTER FOR HIS KIND INDULGENCE AND SYMPATHY. "There is no more courageous body of men than those pioneers of civilization who, taking their lives in their hands, penetrate savage countries in the interests of commerce, to survey and open up the land."--Cecil Rhodes, Rhodesia. CONTENTS To You Who Will Understand To You Who Can Never Understand Men of the Line The Breaker of the Trail The Rodman's Dream The Mustering of the Legion The Deserted Coast The Rhyme of the Rolling Stone My Sentinels The Bonnets The Answer Recalled Wooden Mike The Spectre Sunny Ltd. Unforgotten The Coming of the Line My Pal The Unasked Question The Price of the Line The Home Trail Yesterday The Breed Forever L'Envoi Rhymes of the Survey and Frontier TO YOU WHO WILL UNDERSTAND You, who have conquered the wilderness, You, who are building the land, You, whom I knew in the loneliness, To you, who will understand, Rhymes I have rhymed of the lonely ways, Stories I tell o'er again-- Wandering days by the camp-fire's blaze, Fancy and frolic and pain. Far in the silence I seem to see Shadowy forms in the mist, Moulding the key of a land to be, Steeled to its terrors resist; Daring it all, where the shadows fall, Lengthening far in the night; Answering ever to nature's call, Turning the darkness to light. Many will follow, but you must lead The way o'er the ancient clay, Paying the price of a nation's need; Comrades you leave by the way. Yet in the future you see a land Peopled and loved as a home; Men who will listen and understand Your work in the great alone. Many have judged with a judgment stern Your pleasures, which e'en are few; Judging, with little desire to learn, Of trials they never knew. Yet you have chosen, and who shall say Your choosing was not aright; Willing to follow the silent way, The way of the long, long night. What will it matter, when comes the call To enter the dim unknown? What will it matter, when, after all, You stand at the Master's throne? Maybe I dream, but I often seem Man's judgment to hear reversed; "_I judge by not what you should have been, 'Tis strange you have not been worse._" So have I dreamed of the long ago, Songs have I sung to your name; Little of fancy, to you who know, The cost of a nation's fame; Memories dear to the men who roam, Brothers I knew in the land; Leaving the judgment to you alone, To you, who will understand. TO YOU WHO CAN NEVER UNDERSTAND