Going up — and by all one man's will!
Untrodden lands shall echo with our roars,
Our engines’ wheels shall break the mountains’ still,
Uncharted rivers see us by their shores;
And where the lions drink, and panthers prey,
Shall lie the ballast of our iron-bound way.
Going up! Primaeval forest, where
The Bushman lurks with poison at his lips,
Must give its best, and all its treasures bare,
When our iron-monster in its hollows dips;
And caves, from which the cobra issues forth,
Shall be a Somewhere Junction — for the North.
Going up! Eternal snows, that crown
The lonely summits of the lordly hills,
Shall look upon our laboured paths, and frown
Upon the girdered bridge that spans their rills;
But, clinging to the slope, with scanty hold,
The road shall be unfastened, fold by fold.
Going up! The stifling winds that blow
Across the sweep of fiery desert waste
Shall clog and cloy our workings as we go,
And strive to check us in our desp'rate haste,
With sand that holds us in its shifting clutch —
And iron and brass shall blister to the touch.
Going up! The Nile in sullen wrath
Shall rise and smite the sleeper from the rail,
And say:‘ Behold the Mistress of the North!
Who does not let the work of man prevail!’
But patient man shall strive against her might
Until the palms of Cairo are in sight!