". . . Come, Kit, your pony is saddled.
I'm waiting, dear, in the court . . .
. . . Minnie, you devil, I'll kill you
if you skip with that flossy sport . . .
. . . How much does it go to the pan, Bill? . . .
play up, School, and play the game . . .
. . . Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name . . ."

This was the song of the parson's son, as he lay in his bunk alone,
Ere the fire went out and the cold crept in,
and his blue lips ceased to moan,
And the hunger-maddened malamutes had torn him flesh from bone.




The Call of the Wild



Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley
with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.