He has made a hundred harbors.
He has sailed the seven seas.
He has trod the Arctic ice fields.
He has felt the tropic breeze.
He has dwelt in peaceful cities.
He has taken shade and sun--
He has never hunted trouble
Nor from trouble ever run.
Grim and rugged are his features,
Brown his arms and hard his hands;
Yet his eyes are frank and winsome,
With a boyish air he stands.
Readiest of all our fighters,
True his aim, and dread his gun--
He has never hunted trouble
Nor from trouble ever run.