My way of life is a winding road,
A road that wanders, yet turns not back,
Where one should go with as light a load
As well may be in a traveler's pack;

A road that rambles through marsh and wood,
Meadow and waste, to the cloudy end;
But, smooth or rugged, I find it good,
For something's always around the bend.

There may be storms in the bleak defiles,
But oh, the calm of the valley's breast!
There may be toil on the upward miles,
But oh, the joy of the mountain-crest!

And here's a thistle and there's a rose,
And next—whatever the road may send;
For onward ribbons the way I chose,
With something always around the bend.

Then come and travel my road with me
Through windy passes or waves of flowers!
Though long and weary the march may be,
The rover's blessing shall still be ours:

“A noonday halt at a crystal well,
A word and smile with a passing friend,
A song to sing and a tale to tell,
And something coming around the bend!”