Rhymes of the Survey and Frontier

Have you ever cursed at the Master's work, when life's / been a sort of hell? / If so, then perhaps you will understand the story I'm / going to tell; / There are chaps you know who have never seen the / edge of a thing called life, / And have never known of the challenge thrown in the / darkness of the strife.

There's a land we knew in the days of old, when we / trudged the wilderness, / 'Twas the land of pain, with the brand of Cain, the / home of the loneliness; / We had cursed it oft with the blackest curse, a / reckless and godless lot, / And headed our letters for going home, "the country / that God forgot."