The miser thinks he`s living when he`s hoarding up his gold; The soldier calls it living when he`s doing something bold; The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea, And upon this very subject no two men of us agree. But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along, That living`s made of laughter and good-fellowship and song. I wouldn`t call it living to be always seeking gold, To bank all the present gladness for the days when I`ll be old. I wouldn`t call it living to spend all my strength for fame, And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim. I wouldn`t for the splendor of the world set out to roam, And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home. Oh, the thing that I call living isn`t gold or fame at all! It`s fellowship and sunshine, and it`s roses by the wall. It`s evenings glad with music and a hearth-fire that`s ablaze, And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways. It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal; It is everything that`s needful in the shaping of a soul.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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