Faceless heroes, all unsung-
Who bled, who gave their all...
For whom, a shot, their death knell rung
And no one saw them fall.
No tears were shed upon their graves-
No lovers for them mourned.
They lived, they died, and you forgot
As if they’d not been born.
Who are these heroes? One may ask-
I speak of pioneers,
The hunter, trapper, Indian scout
Who overcame his fears.
And went were men had never trod...
Saw sights no man had known...
Their end, I fear, known but to God.
They’re now but bleaching bones.
One died of thirst on barren sands-
One froze out in the cold.
Anothers scalp was hung to dry
Upon a Sioux lodge pole.
An avalanche got more than one
Pneumonia killed a few...
But many died of broken hearts
But what is that to you?
What broke their hearts? One dares to ask-
They fenced the open range...
And rails of steel brought settlers West-
And all they’d known did change.
The hunters slew the buffalo....
The prairie tribes are gone...
And homes and cities mar the land
These men once called their own.
You ought to drive up to the peaks-
Then walk among the pines...
And aspens high up on the streams..
Where ran their long trap lines.
And sometimes when the moon is full
It casts a magic hue-
I almost fancy once again,
To see a Rendezvous...
Bearded, burly, mountain men-
To hear a fiddle squeal...
While men with men, or maybe squaws
Attempt Virginia Reel.
Fighting, laughing, having fun-
Too soon the time goes by...
Then they would take supplies and leave..
And often they would die.
Bridger, Sublette, Carson, Meek
James Beckwourth, Just a few...
Who blazed the trails up every creek...
Ere their brief day was through.
Smith, and Coulter, Glass and Bent
A hundred others then-
made their mark upon the land...
Here’s to the Mountain men.
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