We ask them "When?" and "Where?" but
never "Why?"
In the land of new beginnings, there's a question never asked,
There are reasons into which we never pry.
Silent men who seek our friendship with a page forever passed,
They have come, we never seek to ask them "Why?"
They have come, and why, no matter, they have come,
'tis all we ask,
Where the fences fade from view we take their hand.
Vessels marred within the moulding, men we turn
them out at last,
Hard and daring, sealed forever with the brand.
Some have drunk the dregs of pleasure, some have
stroked a winning eight—
Drifting derelicts, they seek the lonely way.
One by one they swell the number, one by one, the toys
of fate
One by one ye knew them once—'twas yesterday.
We are men of many nations, but what matter blood or creed
When you're packing o'er a wilderness of snow?
Brothers e'en as God has made us, wanderers, 'twas so decreed,
Brothers, builders, in the lands of long ago.
Some have spent the long vacation, some have come to
ne'er return;
Saint and sinner, fool and felon, rich or poor,
Seek the world's deserted places and the lessons there
to learn,
In the land of new beginnings evermore.
Hard as hell, yet sweet as heaven, cursed by those who
love it best,
Grim, unyielding in its law, the law of man,
Some have said good-bye forever, shrinking e'en before
the test,
Others stay and learn to love and understand.
We are parted for a season—in that season one has gone
For to sit beneath the upper chamber's dome.
Why he came is still his secret, but the man in him
was born
As he sought and trailed with us the great alone.
He's the goal of seeking mammas, he's the idol of the fair,
With his past transgressions buried out of sight.
He's forgot his beans and bacon in a theatre supper's glare,
And his days he's mostly living in the night.
Still we took him as a comrade, asking nothing, judging less,
One of many whom you send us o'er the foam.
O'er the singing sands of Egypt, to the Northland's icy breast,
In the lonely lands the past to e'en atone.
So we never ask them questions, for the story's e'er the same,
But before the dying campfire's dusky glow
In the silence they have told us how they played and
lost the game;
Why remember? E'en forget, 'twas long ago.