Rouse! brothers, rouse! we've far to travel,
Free as the winds we love to roam,
Far through the prairie, far through the forest,
Over the mountains we'll find a home.
We cannot breathe in crowded cities,
We're strangers to the ways of trade;
We long to feel the grass beneath us,
And ply the hatchet and the spade.
Meadows and hills and ancient woodlands
Offer us pasture, fruit, and corn;
Needing our presence, courting our labor;--
Why should we linger like me forlorn?
We love to hear the ringing rifle,
The smiting axe, the falling tree;--
And though our life be rough and lonely,
If it be honest, what care we?
Fair elbow-room for men to thrive in!
Wide elbow-room for work or play!
If cities follow, tracing our footsteps,
Ever to westward shall point the way!
Rude though our life, it suits our spirit,
And newborn States in future years
Shall own us founders of a nation--
And bless the hardy pioneers.
