Note: Though there is little danger of it, 
it is hoped that this song will not be taken seriously, 
or sung, at least, in public.
Which is worse? The music or the words?
For long I wandered happily far out on the world’s highway
And I loved the faraway
I passed where the way was rough
I saw it stained with blood
I wandered on ‘til I tired grew
Far on the world’s highway
I feared, I feared the faraway, the faraway... 
The shining throne, the shining throne, the shining throne of grace. 
But we keep on a-walking
‘Tis yet not noonday
The road still calls us onward
Today we do not choose to die or dance But to live and walk. 
A corner lot, a white picket fence Daises almost everywhere, there
The dear old trees with their arch of leaves
Seem to grasp us by the hand
Comes another song we all know well, For underneath’s a note of sadness
“Old hometown” farewell. 
Down the river comes a noise!
It is not the sound of rolling waters. It’s only the sound of man,
Phonographs and gasoline,
Dancing halls and tambourine— 
Kick him out! Kick him out! Kick him out! Kick him out! Kick him! 
From the street a strain on my ear doth fall
A tune as threadbare as that “old red shawl”
It is tattered, it is torn
It shows signs of being worn
A humming... 
There is a lane which winds towards the bay
Passing a wood where the little children play
There, summer evenings of days long past
Learned I a love song: 
Soft and sweet
Always ending “I love you”
Phrases nice and neat
The same old chords, the same old time The same old sentimental sound... 
I think there must be a place in the soul all made of tunes, of tunes of long ago: 
Now! Hear the songs, 
I know not what are the words. 
“Nothing sounds right”.