They have come, and why, no matter, they have come, 'tis all we ask, Where the fences fade from view we take their hand. Vessels marred within the moulding, men we turn them out at last, Hard and daring, sealed forever with the brand. Some have drunk the dregs of pleasure, some have stroked a winning eight-- Drifting derelicts, they seek the lonely way. One by one they swell the number, one by one, the toys of fate One by one ye knew them once--'twas yesterday. 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.