Wisdom's Haunts

Way out in the woods there are brothers who read By the light of a candle, in Greek, And in far away places are thousands, indeed, Who several languages speak. I have sat near a stove in a queer little store Where the farmers were gathered, and heard A learned discussion of classical lore That my soul with amazement has stirred. I have looked at rough hands and at storm-weathered cheeks And imagined their master to be Uncultured, untutored, as wild as the creeks That are rushing their way to the sea; But I've found just behind the stern mask that he wears, In the simplest of style and of dress, A knowledge of life and a grasp of affairs That professors don't always possess. I blush for the arrogant city man's ways Who struts in his pomp and his pride, And thinks that all wisdom in city walls stays, And fools in the country abide. For out in life's forests and out on its plains, By the side of her mountains and brooks, In the roughest of garments are scholars with brains Who know the inside of their books. Oh, fool from the city, who views with a sneer What is not of the city itself! For what are the things that you seem to revere But the glint and the glitter of pelf? You are warped with conceit and are prejudice-blind, And you know not the truth of the earth, That wherever men labor there always you'll find The things that are really of worth.