The House by the Side of the Road

By Sam Walter Foss

1858-1911

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self-content;

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellowless 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 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 a 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;

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 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.