"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—and so am I.
So 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.
"I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men that press on with the ardor of hope,
And the men who are faint in the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan.
Let me live in my 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.
And 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 one who dwells alone."
Now that is good, but after all,—
"It's only a half truth the poet has sung
Of the house by the side of the way.
Our Master had neither a house nor a home,
But He walked with the crowd day by day.
I think when I read of the poet's desire
That a house by the road would be good,
But service is found in its tenderest form
As we walk with the crowd in the road.
"So I say let me walk with the men in the road,
Let me seek out the burdens that crush;
Let me speak a kind word of good cheer to the weak
Who are falling behind in the rush.
There are wounds to be healed, there are breaks we must mend,
There are cups of cold water to give,
And the man in the road by the side of his friend,
Is the man who has learned how to give.
"Then tell me no more of the house by the road,
There is only one place I can live.
It is there where the men are toiling along,
Who are needing the help I can give.
'Tis pleasant to dwell in the house by the road,
And be a friend, as the poet has said,
But the Master is bidding us, Bear ye their load,
Your rest waiteth yonder ahead.
"So I can not remain in the house by the road,
And watch as the toilers pass on,
Their faces beclouded with pain and with shame,
So burdened, their strength nearly gone.
I will go to their side, I will speak in good cheer,
I will help them to carry their load.
And I'll smile at the man in the house by the way,
While I walk with the crowd in the road.
"Out there in the road that runs by the house
Where the poet is singing his song,
I'll walk and I'll work midst the heat of the day,
And I'll help falling brothers along.
Too busy to dwell in the house by the way,
Too happy for such an abode,
And my glad heart will sing to the Master of all,
Who is helping me serve in the road."
And the beauty and glory of this lovely visit that Prince Jonathan made to David, the outcast, was that he walked with him in the road. He did not dwell in his princely palace and send him some money. He did not allow him, as Dives allowed Lazarus, to gather up the crumbs. He went to him. And because he went to him he helped him. Oh, heart, that is the secret of the salvation wrought by our Lord. He came to us. Had He merely come for the day and gone back to Heaven at night, He would never have saved us. He came into personal contact with us. That is how He lifts us.