The Road Less Traveled

“He was a friend to man, and lived In a house by the side of the road.”- Homer

Admirers of Sam Walter Foss’s poem, “The House by the Side of the Road,” are many. The story of his writing it is known to few. He was an enthusiastic traveler, and on one of his trips through England he came, at the top of a long hill, to a little unpainted house almost in the road, so near it was. Near one side was a queerly constructed signpost finger pointing to a well-worn path and a sign, “Come in and have a cool drink.” Following the path, he found in the side of the bank, some distance from the house, a spring of ice-cold water into which a barrel had been sunk and above which hung an old-fashioned gourd dipper; and on a bench nearby-a wonder-was a basket of fragrant apples with another sign, “Help yourself.” Scenting a story, he went back to the house, where he found a childless old couple in straitened circumstances, with the rocky farm as their only source of livelihood. But it was rich in the delicious spring water and an abundance of fruit; so the sign was placed guiding to the water, and from the time of ripening of the first purple plum to the harvesting of the last apple a basket of whatever fruit might be in season was placed near, so that everyone passing might rest upon the long hill and refresh himself. The old gentleman explained that they were too poor to give money, so took this way to add their mite to the world’s well-doing. The beautiful thought and its helpfulness so impressed Foss that he immortalized with his pen the spirit of the ideal home:

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The House by the Side of the Road by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

“He was a friend to man, and lived In a house by the side of the road.” – Homer

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths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. -

" What we know is a drop; what we don't know is an ocean."