Where is the road to Arcady,
Where is the path that leads to peace,
Where shall I find the bliss to be,
Where shall the weary wanderings cease?
These are the questions that come to me,
Where is the road to Arcady?
Is there a mystic time and place
To which some day shall the traveler fare,
Where there is never a frowning face
And never a burden hard to bear,
Where we as children shall romp and race?
Is there a mystic time and place?
For Arcady is an earthly sphere
Where only the gentlest breezes blow,
A port of rest for the weary here,
Where the velvet grass and the clover grow.
I question it oft, is it far or near?
For Arcady is an earthly sphere.
And the answer comes: it is very near,
It’s there at the end of a little street,
Where your children’s voices are ringing clear
And you catch the patter of little feet.
Where is the spot that is never drear?
And the answer comes: it is very near.
For each man buildeth his Arcady,
And each man fashions his Port of Rest;
And never shall earth spot brighter be
Than the little home that with peace is blessed.
So seek it not o’er the land and sea,
For each man buildeth his Arcady.