Where Men Are Men
In the settled East, in the crowded places
They gibe with pencil, they jab with pen
Whenever you write of "The Open Spaces
The Open Spaces where Men Are Men!"
And you cannot blame them, you cannot wonder,
The phrase is hackneyed and far from new;
It's worked to frazzles--and yet, by thunder,
Sneer as you want to, the phrase is true!
Gone are the days of the ready trigger,
Of cattle wars on the open range,
But still in the West the men "bulk bigger,"
And the hearts within show little change;
They still will gamble with Fate, uncaring,
And, losing, start from the scratch again.
There's plenty left of the old-time daring
Out in the West where "the Men are Men!"
Let the cynics sneer; yet when I am searching
For the best there is in a loyal friend,
For a pal whose honor shall know no smirching,
Whose faith will last to the very end.
I'll look in the lean and sun-bronzed faces
Under the Western skies, for then
I'll find that friend--in the Open Spaces,
The Open Spaces where Men are Men!