The Woods Were Made For The Hunters

Where Shall We Get Religion? Beneath The Open Sky, The Sphere Of Crystal Silence Surcharged With Deity.. The Midnight Earth Sends Incense Up, Sweet With The Breath Of Prayer -- Go Out Beneath The Naked Night And Get Religion There.

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? . W'en You Travel Through The Strange Country T'other Side The Range, Then The Souls You've Cheered Will Know Who You Be, An' Say Hullo.

There Are Hermit Souls That Live Withdrawn In The Place Of Their Self-content; There Are Souls Like Stars That Dwell Apart, In A Fellowless Firmament; There Are Pioneer Souls That Blaze Their Paths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.