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The Swamper

by Douglas Malloch

I am the under dog,
I am the low-down cuss,
I am the standin' joke,
I am the easy meat.
Fellah thet skids the log
Gits all the fame an' fuss—
What of the man who broke
Roads fer the hosses' feet?

Sing of the arm thet's strong,
Sing of the saw thet shines,
Sing of the chopper's might,
Sing of the boss's brain;
Who ever sung your song,
Swampers among the pines,
Fellahs who led the fight
Out in the snow an' rain?

We are the pioneers,
We are the great advance,
We are the men who break
Roads with our horny hands.
Ours not the shouts an' cheers,
Ours not the singers' chants—
Ours but a path to make
Straight through the forest lands.

They who shall come shall reap
Glory thet we have won,
They who shall come shall claim
Praise an' the world's hooray.
Ours but a trust to keep,
Ours but a road to run;
Others shall walk to fame
After we lead the way.

So it shall often be,
So it shall be in life,
So it shall often seem,
Seem in the things men do—
Sung in no history,
Heard in no tale of strife,
Oft shall the dreamer dream,
Fergot when his dream comes true.

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