Where the Pelican Builds

The horses were ready, The rails were down, But the riders lingered still One had a parting word to say And one had his pipe to fill They had told us of pastures Wide and green, To be sought past the sunsets' glow, Of rifts in the ranges by opals lit And gold 'neath the rivers flow The creek at the ford Was but fetlock deep, When we watched them crossing there, The rains have replenished it thrice since then And thrice has the rocks lain bare. But the waters of hope Have flower and fled, And never from blue hills breast, Came back, by the sun and sand devoured Where the Pelican builds its nest.