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From Off the Road Database
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<div class="poem">
<p>On mountain height both east and west,<br />
For every living mortal there is rest.<br />
We view the peaks in contemplation<br />
Of God's great plan for all creation.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Of the peaks around both high and low,<br />
The one we favor most is San Antonio.<br />
We like to go up there whene'er we can,<br />
It's easy in a Studebaker Six Sedan.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>If the mountains were never stationed there,<br />
We would not have the purified air,<br />
Nor would flowing rivers be sustained,<br />
If in the mountains it never rained.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>They rise to proud and lofty height,<br />
Forbidding and dark are they at night.<br />
Their summits kiss the heavens high,<br />
They ever remind us God is nigh.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p><span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 11em;"> <i>—The Car with Character.</i></span>
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>The mountains grim forever stand,<br />
While men will roam about the land.<br />
Men are fond of other men to greet,<br />
Mountains never have been known to meet.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When we view the mountains all around,<br />
From their vast stillness not a sound,<br />
They seem just like some silent friend<br />
On whom we safely can depend.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>No engines shrieking rescue storm the night,<br />
And hose and hydrant cannot here avail;<br />
The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light,<br />
And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale.<br />
The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls,<br />
And the big building bends and twists and groans.<br />
A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls<br />
Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans.<br />
The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire,<br />
The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd,<br />
The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher,<br />
To lose their glory in the frowning cloud,<br />
Yielding at length the last reluctant breath.<br />
And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Some day again we will see the place,<br />
And, too, in our memory each one's face,<br />
In a Six Studebaker so easy and free,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Pictures of those long passed away,<br />
Hung on the walls and watched our play,<br />
They shared with us in all our glee,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>The beauty that gathered in that dominion, <br />
Was though it had dropped from angel pinion,<br />
For the birth of Him who made us free,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>The smile and song and the merry laughter,<br />
That rang from the cellar clear to the rafter,<br />
Each loved one's face we yet can see,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>The place to us was one of splendor,<br />
And cherished yet in our memory tender,<br />
And the glory of that first Christmas tree,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>The fires were burning the coals were glowing,<br />
From all of our hearts affection was flowing,<br />
In honor of Him was our Christmas tree,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Those hearts of the long ago we treasure,<br />
In the memory with unstinted measure,<br />
All gathered around that Christmas tree,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Nothing can make our heart so warm,<br />
As visions of where we first were born,<br />
As the memory of that first Christmas tree,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p><span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 11em;"> <i>—The Car with Character.</i></span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!<br />
You are more beautiful than they are.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>The people pass through the dust<br />
On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;<br />
The waggoners go by at dawn;<br />
The lovers walk on the grass path at night.
</p>
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