Beyond The Range

(Jack Martin died at dawn Sunday morning, July 12, 1925. "Never say of me that I am dead; say that I have gone on an eternal prospecting trip." Extract from my own diary.) Now here I cache the useless pack I nevermore shall need; And here I take the Longest Trail Where ever it may lead. Beyond the range-beyond the rangeO strong and sure and sure and free! I quest for more than life had sought And more than eyes could see.

O desert skies and desert stars And desert trails I knew; Brown peaks that hold the dream of gold, I turn no more to you. O nevermore I turn to you At dawn or set of sunFor campfire's light, or nuggets brightThe golden day is done. Now stake for me a last, last claim And lay me there to restThe trail worn feet, the weary hands, The still heart in my breast. Earth's last prospecting trip is done, But somewhere strong and sure, My spirit seeks the Motherlode Whose treasure shall endure.

Out, out beyond the farthest star, Beyond the last lone peak; More fair than desert-born mirage The glory land I seek. No monuments are on the trail, The way is dim and strangeThe light of God is in the land That lies beyond the range.