The House by the Side of the Rode

 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self-content;

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellow-less firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths

Where highways never ran;

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by;

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorners seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban;

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,

By the side of the highway of life;

The men who press with the arbor of hope,

The men who are faint with the strife.

But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,

Both part of an infinite plan;

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,

And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladden meadows ahead

And mountains of wearisome height;

That the road passes on through the long afternoon

And stretches away to the night.

But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,

And weep with the strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road

Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road;

It's here the race of men go by.

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong.

Wise, foolish – so am I;

Then why would I seat in the scorners seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road

and be a friend to man.

Sam Walter Foss

1858 - 1911