Sam Walter Foss Poems

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
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One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
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“The proper way for a man to pray”
said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
“and the only proper attitude
is down upon his knees.”
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We've lived for forty years, dear wife,
And walked together side by side,
And you to-day are just as dear
As when you were my bride.
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I

They met and they talked where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come,
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THE TOWN of Hay is far away,
The town of Hay is far;
Between its hills of green and gray
Its winding meadows are.
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'How is business?' asks the young man of the Spirit of the Years;
'Tell me of the modern output from the factories of fate,
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The Man of Questions paused and stood
Before the Man of Toil,
And asked, 'Are you content, my man,
To dig here in the soil?
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What is the world’s true Bible -- ‘tis the highest thought of man,
The thought distilled through ages since the dawn of thought began.
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Men seem as alike as the leaves on the trees,
As alike as the bees in a swarming of bees
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