For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!
Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.
Most works are most beautiful without ornament.
And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.