The House By the Side of the Road
...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
scorner's 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 ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the
strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears -
Both
parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of
the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are
brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
And
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
Where 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 should I sit in the scorner's 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.
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