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 No more shall they feel his clasp and kiss— Aye, never beneath the sun.

Vex, vex not the Empire Builder, Nor babble of Mercy's shield; Hath he not his vaster issue— The linking of field to field?

Hath he not noted the boundary That lies 'twixt "mine and thine"? Hath he not said, "'Twere better for thee If thine henceforth be mine"?

And so doth the Empire Builder, From out of the ends of the earth, Thro' travail of war and of carnage Bring strange, new realms to birth—

Realms builded on broken hearthstones, The triumph of Rapine's hour— That one may boast in the halls of Fame And sit in the seats of Power!

II

This is the song of the Empire Builder, Who built not of wasted lands, But who builded a kingdom of golden deeds And of things not made by hands!

The fields of the spirit were his to roam, The paths where the love-flowers grew: He felt the breath of the spirits' spring In every wind that blew: