Where tropic trees flaunt gaudy vines,
Where northern firs stand dark and stern;
By desert springs, in night-black mines,
Where sun-scorched sand-plains blind and burn;
From the Atlantic's rocky rim
To the Pacific's steel-bound shore,
We trace the trails, time cannot dim,
The men of destiny have trod before,
Leading an empire on a line
Stretching from flashing brine to brine.
There is no place they have not been,
The men of deeds and destiny;
No spot so wild they have not seen,
And measured it with dauntless eye.
They in a common danger shared,
Nor shrunk from toil, nor want nor pain,
But sternly every peril dared,
Just to be heroes, scorning gain.
We, trembling, listen to the tale
That turns the hardiest hearer pale.
Constrained to question why, and when,
And how at first the impulse came
Which parted these from other men,
Leaving us often scarce a name
For history's page. Yet these are they
By whom the race unseen is led;
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