You take the highway
with it's anxious, rushing people;
I'll take the low road
and the little church with a steeple.

You take the highway,
if you please,
And I'll take the back road
through wild-flower'd leas.

I'll take the rustic byways
and the slow, unhurried pace;
I'll take broad fields and meadows green,
bright with Queen Anne's lace.

I'll take the slow road
on a lazy, sun-washed day,
The sights and sounds of summer,
and the scent of new-mown hay.

Yes, I'll take the low road
breathe that cool, clean air,
And renew my soul with country,
so familiar, yet so rare.