Let Me Live In the House by the Side of the Road

Powerful poetry cross-stitched on my heart

Image by author

I used to lay in my grandparent’s guest bedroom, in the too-tall bed, tucked under the too-tight blankets, and stare at the beautiful cross-stitch of a house with a horse-drawn carriage out in front. Over this scene was stitched the phrase, “Let me live in the house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.”

I used to marvel at the simplicity of this frank desire. Just to live in a house and be a friend to whoever walked by. This simple statement mirrored clearly and plainly my own heart.

This is a line from a poem by Sam Walter Foss (1858–1911) which, in my view, is about wanting to have compassion and camaraderie towards others we encounter. It is beautiful. Please check it out:

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn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 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
Nor 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 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 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…