"Men will grow weary," said the Lord, "Of working for their bed and board. They`ll weary of the money chase And want to find a resting place Where hum of wheel is never heard And no one speaks an angry word, And selfishness and greed and pride And petty motives don`t abide. They`ll need a place where they can go To wash their souls as white as snow. They will be better men and true If they can play a day or two." The Lord then made the brooks to flow And fashioned rivers here below, And many lakes; for water seems Best suited for a mortal`s dreams. He placed about them willow trees To catch the murmur of the breeze, And sent the birds that sing the best Among the foliage to nest. He filled each pond and stream and lake With fish for man to come and take; Then stretched a velvet carpet deep On which a weary soul could sleep. It seemed to me the Good Lord knew That man would want something to do When worn and wearied with the stress Of battling hard for world success. When sick at heart of all the strife And pettiness of daily life, He knew he`d need, from time to time, To cleanse himself of city grime, And he would want some place to be Where hate and greed he`d never see. And so on lakes and streams and brooks The Good Lord fashioned fishing nooks.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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