There are hermit souls that live withdrawn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 the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live in a house 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, the men who are bad,
As bad and as good as I.

I would not sit in the scorner's seat
Nor hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the sound 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 from the strife.

But I turn not away from their smiles and 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.

And 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 a 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 a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.