There Are Purple Grapes In The Land

There Are Purple Grapes In The Land Of Git-thare.

Seek Not For Fresher Founts Afar, Just Drop Your Bucket Where You Are; And While The Ship Right Onward Leaps, Uplift It From The Exhaustless Deeps. Parch Not Your Life With Dry Despair; The Stream Of Hope Flow Everywhere-- So Under Every Sky And Star, Just Drop Your Bucket Where You Are.

Seek Not For Fresher Founts Afar, Just Drop You Bucket Where You Are.

There Are Hermit Souls That Live Withdrawn In The Place Of Their Self-content; There Are Souls Like Stars That Dwell Apart, In A Fellowless Firmament; There Are Pioneer Souls That Blaze Their Paths Where Highways Never Ran,-- But Let Me Live By The Side Of The Road, And Be A Friend To Man.

The Woods Were Made For The Hunters Of Dreams, The Brooks For The Fishers Of Song; To The Hunters Who Hunt For The Gunless Game The Streams And The Woods Belong.