He must come back a better man,
Beneath the summer bronze and tan,
Who turns his back on city strife
To neighbor with the trees;
He must be stronger for the fight
And see with clearer eye the right,
Who fares beneath the open sky
And welcomes every breeze.
The man who loves all living things
Enough to go where Nature flings
Her glories everywhere about,
And dwell with them awhile,
Must be, when he comes back once more,
A little better than before,
A little surer of his faith
And readier to smile.
He never can be wholly bad
Who seeks the sunshine and is glad
To hear a songbird's melody
Or wade a laughing stream;
Nor worse than when he went away
Will he return at close of day
Who's chummed with happy birds and trees,
And taken time to dream.
A Book and a Pipe
Give me a book and my cozy chair and a pipe of old perique
And the wind may howl and I shall not care that the night is cold and bleak,
For I'll follow my friend of the printed page wherever he leads me on,
I'll follow him back to a vanished age and the joys of a life that's gone.
I'll stand with him on a brigantine with the salt wind in my face,
I'll hear him shout when the whale is seen and share in the stirring chase,
And I'll hear him say as the gulls fly by and round us overhead:
"Every bird up there with its ghastly cry is the soul of a sailor dead."
I'll go with him where the pole star gleams and the arctic nights are long,
I'll go with him to his land of dreams away from the surging throng,
I'll stand with him on the battle line where the sky with flame turns red,
I'll follow this faithful friend of mine wherever he wants to tread.
Oh, whether it be adventure grim or the calm of a noble mind,
Or a sea to sail and a ship to trim or a pearl of truth to find,
Grant me an hour in my easy chair and a pipe full of old perique
And there's ever a friendly book up there that can furnish the joy I seek.