Before us lie the seas which bring the east unto the west; The oriental Sphinx has bared the secrets of her breast, And calls on us for answer to her riddles all unguessed Since stars went rolling on. Half-blinded with the gold dust from our smitten mountain coves, For years we wandered dreaming in our fig and orange groves, While the placers of our wheat fields gleamed with golden treasure-troves, And we went gaily on. Garden-valleyed are our hillsides—softest hand that gloves the steel— But the will is rock beneath them for our country's righteous weal; Our heritage of birthright we will guard with deathless zeal, As the peoples go marching on. For our children's souls shall answer with a spark of holy fire When smitten on the anvil of a pure and bold desire, Till the blows become the key-note of the world's advancing choir, As the future goes marching on. |