The Woods Were Made For The Hunter

One Day Through The Primeval Wood A Calf Walked Home As Good Calves Should; But Made A Trail All Bent Askew, A Crooked Trail As All Calves Do. . . . . And Men Two Centuries And A Half Trod In The Footsteps Of That Calf.

W'en You See A Man In Woe, Walk Right Up And Say 'hullo'; Say "hullo" And "how D'ye Do. How's The World A-usin' You?

W'en You See A Man In Woe, Walk Right Up And Say Hullo. Say Hullo And How D'ye Do, How's The World A-usin' You? . W'en You Travel Through The Strange Country T'other Side The Range, Then The Souls You've Cheered Will Know Who You Be, An' Say Hullo.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fisher Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong. There Are Thoughts That Moan From The Soul Of The Pine And Thoughts In A Flower-bell Curled; And The Thoughts That Are Blown With The Scent Of The Fern Are As New And As Old As The World.

Just Drop Your Bucket Where You Are.