The Coming American

Bring me men to match my mountains; Bring me men to match my plains, — Men with empires in their purpose, And new eras in their brains. Bring me men to match my praries, Men to match my inland seas, Men whose thought shall pave a highway Up to ampler destinies; Pioneers to clear Thought's marshlands, And to cleanse old Error's fen; Bring me men to match my mountains — Bring me men! Bring me men to match my forests, Strong to fight the storm and blast, Branching toward the skyey future, Rooted in the fertile past. Bring me men to match my valleys, Tolerant of sun and snow, Men within whose fruitful purpose Time's consummate blooms shall grow. Men to tame the tigerish instincts Of the lair and cave and den, Cleans the dragon slime of Nature — Bring me men! Bring me men to match my rivers, Continent cleavers, flowing free, Drawn by the eternal madness To be mingled with the sea; Men of oceanic impulse, Men whose moral currents sweep Toward the wide-enfolding ocean Of an undiscovered deep; Men who feel the strong pulsation Of the Central Sea, and then Time their currents to its earth throb — Bring me men!