Being a Scouter is a treasure
That one can never compare
To dollars, gold or silver,
And other material fare.
No, the wealth of which I'm speaking
Comers from a purer source of joy,
It's a being of God's own making
That we often call a "boy".

He's and active little fireball
Well known by one and all,
I have had the chance to be with him
Each week down at the hall.
He knows not of the cynics
And the skeptics of our day
The whole world is his wonderland
And he inivites us out to play.

When I'm with this youth at Beaver camp
And he wonders at a tree,
I feel my inner wonderment
Come flowing out of me.
Under moutains, in the twilight,
Looking at the heavens above,
I know why I'm a Scouter,
I'm a Scouter out of love.