Let Me Live In My House By

Strew Gladness On The Paths Of Men-you Will Not Pass This Way Again.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fisher Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong. There Are Thoughts That Moan From The Soul Of The Pine And Thoughts In A Flower-bell Curled; And The Thoughts That Are Blown With The Scent Of The Fern Are As New And As Old As The World.

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.

W'en You See A Man In Woe, Walk Right Up And Say 'hullo'; Say "hullo" And "how D'ye Do. How's The World A-usin' You?

I Say The Very Things That Make The Greatest Stiran' The Most Interestin' Things, Are Things That Did N't Occur.