Classic Poem

O give me for treasure no gems of the Ind,
But just the rich gifts of the sun and the wind;
My lungs full of ozone, my soul full of glee—
The wealth of the Road is the treasure for me!

Who cares for the gold, for the bonds and the stocks,
Hid deep in the grip of some steel-armored box,
When out on the highway when twilight comes by
He seizes the sunset that blazons the sky?

What riches are they that are measured by pence
And wrung from a toil that is selfish and tense,
Compared to the wealth of a soul that is free
And roams o'er the broad open highway with me?

What silver of dross in the realm of the mart,
All cold, unresponsive to soul or to heart,
Can give to the spirit of man such a thrill
As comes from the silvery song of the rill?

Mankind to the full of my powers I'll serve,
But seek my rewards, not in shattering nerve,
With gold for my pay, but the rich stores of love
That stream from the hand of my God up above!

The gold of the dawn—that is ever mine own—
I spend like a prodigal set on a throne,
And yet when 'tis spent, all the greater my thrift—
One gains in the giving of this blessed gift!

For music the birds, and the whispering breeze;
For bed some soft spot where the pine lures to ease;
For comrades God's creatures that prank everywhere;
For books the rare fancies that throb in the air!

And 'stead of rich robes made of fabric so gay
That men in their winning dare death on the way,
Content is my heart, and my meed is delight,
In clothing my soul in the mantle of night.

Seek ye, if ye will, the cold treasures of earth—
I'll take for my share all the joy and the mirth
Of freedom that comes with no trials to goad
To him who's content with the Wealth of the Road!