When my old soul hunts range and restBeyond the last divide,Just plant me in some stretch of WestThat's sunny, lone and wide.Let cattle rub my tombstone downAnd coyotes mourn their kin,Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'But don't you fence it in!Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!And they pen the land with wire.They figure fence and copper centsWhere we laughed 'round the fire.Job cussed his birthday, night and morn.In his old land of Uz,But I'm just glad I wasn't bornNo later than I was!
When my old soul hunts range and restBeyond the last divide,Just plant me in some stretch of WestThat's sunny, lone and wide.Let cattle rub my tombstone downAnd coyotes mourn their kin,Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'But don't you fence it in!
When my old soul hunts range and rest
Beyond the last divide,
Just plant me in some stretch of West
That's sunny, lone and wide.
Let cattle rub my tombstone down
And coyotes mourn their kin,
Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'
But don't you fence it in!
Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!And they pen the land with wire.They figure fence and copper centsWhere we laughed 'round the fire.Job cussed his birthday, night and morn.In his old land of Uz,But I'm just glad I wasn't bornNo later than I was!
Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
And they pen the land with wire.
They figure fence and copper cents
Where we laughed 'round the fire.
Job cussed his birthday, night and morn.
In his old land of Uz,
But I'm just glad I wasn't born
No later than I was!
Men of the older, gentler soil,Loving the things that their fathers wrought—Worn old fields of their fathers' toil,Scarred old hills where their fathers fought—Loving their land for each ancient trace,Like a mother dear for her wrinkled face,Such as they never can understandThe way we have loved you, young, young land!Born of a free, world-wandering race,Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod.What did we care for the fathers' place,Having ours fresh from the hand of God?Who feared the strangeness or wiles of youWhen from the unreckoned miles of you,Thrilling the wind with a sweet command,Youth unto youth called, young, young land?
Men of the older, gentler soil,Loving the things that their fathers wrought—Worn old fields of their fathers' toil,Scarred old hills where their fathers fought—Loving their land for each ancient trace,Like a mother dear for her wrinkled face,Such as they never can understandThe way we have loved you, young, young land!
Men of the older, gentler soil,
Loving the things that their fathers wrought—
Worn old fields of their fathers' toil,
Scarred old hills where their fathers fought—
Loving their land for each ancient trace,
Like a mother dear for her wrinkled face,
Such as they never can understand
The way we have loved you, young, young land!
Born of a free, world-wandering race,Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod.What did we care for the fathers' place,Having ours fresh from the hand of God?Who feared the strangeness or wiles of youWhen from the unreckoned miles of you,Thrilling the wind with a sweet command,Youth unto youth called, young, young land?
Born of a free, world-wandering race,
Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod.
What did we care for the fathers' place,
Having ours fresh from the hand of God?
Who feared the strangeness or wiles of you
When from the unreckoned miles of you,
Thrilling the wind with a sweet command,
Youth unto youth called, young, young land?
Born of a free, world-wandering race ..."Born of a free, world-wandering race,Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod."
"Born of a free, world-wandering race,Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod."
"Born of a free, world-wandering race,Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod."
"Born of a free, world-wandering race,
Little we yearned o'er an oft-turned sod."
North, where the hurrying seasons changedOver great gray plains where the trails lay long,Free as the sweeping Chinook we ranged,Setting our days to a saddle song.Through the icy challenge you flung to us,Through your shy Spring kisses that clung to us,Following far as the rainbow spanned,Fiercely we wooed you, young, young land!South, where the sullen black mountains guardLimitless, shimmering lands of the sun,Over blinding trails where the hoofs rang hard,Laughing or cursing, we rode and won.Drunk with the virgin white fire of you,Hotter than thirst was desire of you;Straight in our faces you burned your brand,Marking your chosen ones, young, young land.When did we long for the sheltered gloomOf the older game with its cautious odds?Gloried we always in sun and room,Spending our strength like the younger gods.By the wild sweet ardor that ran in us,By the pain that tested the man in us,By the shadowy springs and the glaring sand,You were our true-love, young, young land.When the last free trail is a prim, fenced laneAnd our graves grow weeds through forgetful Mays,Richer and statelier then you'll reign,Mother of men whom the world will praise.And your sons will love you and sigh for you,Labor and battle and die for you,But never the fondest will understandThe way we have loved you, young, young land.
North, where the hurrying seasons changedOver great gray plains where the trails lay long,Free as the sweeping Chinook we ranged,Setting our days to a saddle song.Through the icy challenge you flung to us,Through your shy Spring kisses that clung to us,Following far as the rainbow spanned,Fiercely we wooed you, young, young land!
North, where the hurrying seasons changed
Over great gray plains where the trails lay long,
Free as the sweeping Chinook we ranged,
Setting our days to a saddle song.
Through the icy challenge you flung to us,
Through your shy Spring kisses that clung to us,
Following far as the rainbow spanned,
Fiercely we wooed you, young, young land!
South, where the sullen black mountains guardLimitless, shimmering lands of the sun,Over blinding trails where the hoofs rang hard,Laughing or cursing, we rode and won.Drunk with the virgin white fire of you,Hotter than thirst was desire of you;Straight in our faces you burned your brand,Marking your chosen ones, young, young land.
South, where the sullen black mountains guard
Limitless, shimmering lands of the sun,
Over blinding trails where the hoofs rang hard,
Laughing or cursing, we rode and won.
Drunk with the virgin white fire of you,
Hotter than thirst was desire of you;
Straight in our faces you burned your brand,
Marking your chosen ones, young, young land.
When did we long for the sheltered gloomOf the older game with its cautious odds?Gloried we always in sun and room,Spending our strength like the younger gods.By the wild sweet ardor that ran in us,By the pain that tested the man in us,By the shadowy springs and the glaring sand,You were our true-love, young, young land.
When did we long for the sheltered gloom
Of the older game with its cautious odds?
Gloried we always in sun and room,
Spending our strength like the younger gods.
By the wild sweet ardor that ran in us,
By the pain that tested the man in us,
By the shadowy springs and the glaring sand,
You were our true-love, young, young land.
When the last free trail is a prim, fenced laneAnd our graves grow weeds through forgetful Mays,Richer and statelier then you'll reign,Mother of men whom the world will praise.And your sons will love you and sigh for you,Labor and battle and die for you,But never the fondest will understandThe way we have loved you, young, young land.
When the last free trail is a prim, fenced lane
And our graves grow weeds through forgetful Mays,
Richer and statelier then you'll reign,
Mother of men whom the world will praise.
And your sons will love you and sigh for you,
Labor and battle and die for you,
But never the fondest will understand
The way we have loved you, young, young land.
My fathers sleep on the sunrise plains,And each one sleeps alone.Their trails may dim to the grass and rains,For I choose to make my own.I lay proud claim to their blood and name,But I lean on no dead kin;My name is mine, for the praise or scorn,And the world began when I was bornAnd the world is mine to win.They built high towns on their old log sills,Where the great, slow rivers gleamed,But with new, live rock from the savage hillsI'll build as they only dreamed.The smoke scarce dies where the trail camp lies,Till the rails glint down the pass;The desert springs into fruit and wheatAnd I lay the stones of a solid streetOver yesterday's untrod grass.I waste no thought on my neighbor's birthOr the way he makes his prayer.I grant him a white man's room on earthIf his game is only square.While he plays it straight I'll call him mate;If he cheats I drop him flat.Old class and rank are a wornout lie,For all clean men are as good as I,And a king is only that.I dream no dreams of a nurse-maid stateThat will spoon me out my food.A stout heart sings in the fray with fateAnd the shock and sweat are good.From noon to noon all the earthly boonThat I ask my God to spareIs a little daily bread in store,With the room to fight the strong for more,And the weak shall get their share.The sunrise plains are a tender hazeAnd the sunset seas are gray,But I stand here, where the bright skies blazeOver me and the big today.What good to me is a vague "may be"Or a mournful "might have been,"For the sun wheels swift from morn to mornAnd the world began when I was bornAnd the world is mine to win.
My fathers sleep on the sunrise plains,And each one sleeps alone.Their trails may dim to the grass and rains,For I choose to make my own.I lay proud claim to their blood and name,But I lean on no dead kin;My name is mine, for the praise or scorn,And the world began when I was bornAnd the world is mine to win.
My fathers sleep on the sunrise plains,
And each one sleeps alone.
Their trails may dim to the grass and rains,
For I choose to make my own.
I lay proud claim to their blood and name,
But I lean on no dead kin;
My name is mine, for the praise or scorn,
And the world began when I was born
And the world is mine to win.
They built high towns on their old log sills,Where the great, slow rivers gleamed,But with new, live rock from the savage hillsI'll build as they only dreamed.The smoke scarce dies where the trail camp lies,Till the rails glint down the pass;The desert springs into fruit and wheatAnd I lay the stones of a solid streetOver yesterday's untrod grass.
They built high towns on their old log sills,
Where the great, slow rivers gleamed,
But with new, live rock from the savage hills
I'll build as they only dreamed.
The smoke scarce dies where the trail camp lies,
Till the rails glint down the pass;
The desert springs into fruit and wheat
And I lay the stones of a solid street
Over yesterday's untrod grass.
I waste no thought on my neighbor's birthOr the way he makes his prayer.I grant him a white man's room on earthIf his game is only square.While he plays it straight I'll call him mate;If he cheats I drop him flat.Old class and rank are a wornout lie,For all clean men are as good as I,And a king is only that.
I waste no thought on my neighbor's birth
Or the way he makes his prayer.
I grant him a white man's room on earth
If his game is only square.
While he plays it straight I'll call him mate;
If he cheats I drop him flat.
Old class and rank are a wornout lie,
For all clean men are as good as I,
And a king is only that.
I dream no dreams of a nurse-maid stateThat will spoon me out my food.A stout heart sings in the fray with fateAnd the shock and sweat are good.From noon to noon all the earthly boonThat I ask my God to spareIs a little daily bread in store,With the room to fight the strong for more,And the weak shall get their share.
I dream no dreams of a nurse-maid state
That will spoon me out my food.
A stout heart sings in the fray with fate
And the shock and sweat are good.
From noon to noon all the earthly boon
That I ask my God to spare
Is a little daily bread in store,
With the room to fight the strong for more,
And the weak shall get their share.
The sunrise plains are a tender hazeAnd the sunset seas are gray,But I stand here, where the bright skies blazeOver me and the big today.What good to me is a vague "may be"Or a mournful "might have been,"For the sun wheels swift from morn to mornAnd the world began when I was bornAnd the world is mine to win.
The sunrise plains are a tender haze
And the sunset seas are gray,
But I stand here, where the bright skies blaze
Over me and the big today.
What good to me is a vague "may be"
Or a mournful "might have been,"
For the sun wheels swift from morn to morn
And the world began when I was born
And the world is mine to win.
My tired hawse nickers for his own home bars;A hoof clicks out a spark.The dim creek flickers to the lonesome stars;The trail twists down the dark.The ridge pines whimper to the pines below.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.The birch has yellowed since I saw you last,The Fall haze blued the creeks,The big pine bellowed as the snow swished past,But still, above the peaks,The same stars twinkle that we used to know.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.The stars up yonder wait the end of timeBut earth fires soon go black.I trip and wander on the trail I climb—A fool who will look backTo glimpse a fire dead a year ago.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.Who says the lover kills the man in me?Beneath the day's hot blueThis thing hunts cover and my heart fights freeTo laugh an hour or two.But now it wavers like a wounded doe.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
My tired hawse nickers for his own home bars;A hoof clicks out a spark.The dim creek flickers to the lonesome stars;The trail twists down the dark.The ridge pines whimper to the pines below.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
My tired hawse nickers for his own home bars;
A hoof clicks out a spark.
The dim creek flickers to the lonesome stars;
The trail twists down the dark.
The ridge pines whimper to the pines below.
The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
The birch has yellowed since I saw you last,The Fall haze blued the creeks,The big pine bellowed as the snow swished past,But still, above the peaks,The same stars twinkle that we used to know.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
The birch has yellowed since I saw you last,
The Fall haze blued the creeks,
The big pine bellowed as the snow swished past,
But still, above the peaks,
The same stars twinkle that we used to know.
The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
The stars up yonder wait the end of timeBut earth fires soon go black.I trip and wander on the trail I climb—A fool who will look backTo glimpse a fire dead a year ago.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
The stars up yonder wait the end of time
But earth fires soon go black.
I trip and wander on the trail I climb—
A fool who will look back
To glimpse a fire dead a year ago.
The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
Who says the lover kills the man in me?Beneath the day's hot blueThis thing hunts cover and my heart fights freeTo laugh an hour or two.But now it wavers like a wounded doe.The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
Who says the lover kills the man in me?
Beneath the day's hot blue
This thing hunts cover and my heart fights free
To laugh an hour or two.
But now it wavers like a wounded doe.
The wind is blowin' and I want you so.
Up from the prairie and through the pines,Over your straggling headboard linesWinds of the West go by.You must love them, you booted dead,More than the dreamers who died in bed—You old-timers who took your leadUnder the open sky!Leathery knights of the dim old trail,Lawful fighters or scamps from jail,Dimly your virtues shine.Yet who am I that I judge your wars,Deeds that my daintier soul abhors,Wide-open sins of the wide outdoors,Manlier sins than mine.Dear old mavericks, customs mend.I would not glory to make an endMarked like a homemade sieve.But with a touch of your own old prideGrant me to travel the trail I ride.Gamely and gaily, the way you died,Give me the nerve to live.Ay, and for you I will dare assumeSome Valhalla of sun and roomOver the last divide.There, in eternally fenceless West,Rest to your souls, if they care to rest,Or else fresh horses beyond the crestAnd a star-speckled range to ride.
Up from the prairie and through the pines,Over your straggling headboard linesWinds of the West go by.You must love them, you booted dead,More than the dreamers who died in bed—You old-timers who took your leadUnder the open sky!
Up from the prairie and through the pines,
Over your straggling headboard lines
Winds of the West go by.
You must love them, you booted dead,
More than the dreamers who died in bed—
You old-timers who took your lead
Under the open sky!
Leathery knights of the dim old trail,Lawful fighters or scamps from jail,Dimly your virtues shine.Yet who am I that I judge your wars,Deeds that my daintier soul abhors,Wide-open sins of the wide outdoors,Manlier sins than mine.
Leathery knights of the dim old trail,
Lawful fighters or scamps from jail,
Dimly your virtues shine.
Yet who am I that I judge your wars,
Deeds that my daintier soul abhors,
Wide-open sins of the wide outdoors,
Manlier sins than mine.
Dear old mavericks, customs mend.I would not glory to make an endMarked like a homemade sieve.But with a touch of your own old prideGrant me to travel the trail I ride.Gamely and gaily, the way you died,Give me the nerve to live.
Dear old mavericks, customs mend.
I would not glory to make an end
Marked like a homemade sieve.
But with a touch of your own old pride
Grant me to travel the trail I ride.
Gamely and gaily, the way you died,
Give me the nerve to live.
Ay, and for you I will dare assumeSome Valhalla of sun and roomOver the last divide.There, in eternally fenceless West,Rest to your souls, if they care to rest,Or else fresh horses beyond the crestAnd a star-speckled range to ride.
Ay, and for you I will dare assume
Some Valhalla of sun and room
Over the last divide.
There, in eternally fenceless West,
Rest to your souls, if they care to rest,
Or else fresh horses beyond the crest
And a star-speckled range to ride.