The giants with hopes audacious; the giants of iron limb;

The giants who journeyed westward when the trails were new and dim;

The giants who felled the forests, made pathways o’er the snows,

And planted the vine and fig tree where the manzanita grows;

Who swept the mountain gorges, and painted their endless night,

With their cabins rudely fashioned and their camp-fires’ ruddy light;

Who builded great towns and cities, who swung the Golden Gate,

And hewed from the mighty ashlar the form of a sovereign state.

I drink alone in silence to the builders of the West—

“Long life to the hearts still beating, and peace to the hearts at rest.”