Men of the North

If the glowing embers of a camp-fire have lost their subtle power to charm you,— If the faint odor of wood-smoke cannot trip the sluggish rhythm of your heart one beat,— If the soft, remembered fragrance of the pines at dusk does not fill you with nostalgia,— If, in the quiet reaches of the night, you can dream great dreams no longer,— Or if the night winds, walking through the forest, must greet you as a stranger.

If the lost, mad cry of a Loon on some far Northern Lake can find no echo deep within you,— If the ever-changing beauty of a trout stream cannot make you sing its restless song,— If the sudden, stabbing fury of a storm across the mountains does not thrill your very being,— If you cannot recall the splendor of the sunset, or the clear, cool glory of the dawn,— Or if all our days and nights of comradery are meaningless to you,—-

Then God have mercy on your soul! For you are lost and one of us no more.