Poem for the Day

Don'T Quit 

by Edgar Albert Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
when the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
when the funds are low and the debts are high,
and you want to smile but you have to sigh,
when care is pressing you down a bit - rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns.
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a fellow turns about when he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow - you may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than it seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the struggler has given up when he might have captured the victor's cup;
and he learned too late when the night came down,
how close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out - the silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
and when you never can tell how close you are,
it may be near when it seems afar;
so stick to the fight when you're hardest hit - it's when things seem worst, you must not quit. 

Do Your All

Poem for the Day

Do Your All
by Edgar Albert Guest

'Do your bit!' How cheap and trite
Seems that phrase in such a fight!
'Do your bit!' That cry recall,
Change it now to 'Do your all!'
Do your all, and then do more;
Do what you're best fitted for;
Do your utmost, do and give,
You have but one life to live.

Do your finest, do your best,
Don't let up and stop to rest,
Don't sit back and idly say:
'I did something yesterday.'
Come on! Here's another hour,
Give it all you have of power.
Here's another day that needs
Everybody's share of deeds.

'Do your bit!' of course, but then
Do it time and time again;
Giving, doing, all should be
Up to full capacity.
Now's no time to pick and choose,
We've a war we must not lose.
Be your duty great or small,
Do it well and do it all.

Do by careful, patient living,
Do by cheerful, open giving;
Do by serving day by day
At whatever post you may;
Do by sacrificing pleasure,
Do by scorning hours of leisure.
Now to God and country give
Every minute that you live. 

Division

Poem for the Day

Division
by Edgar Albert Guest

You cannot gather every rose,
Nor every pleasure claim,
Nor bask in every breeze that blows,
Nor play in every game.

No millionaire could ever own
The world's supply of pearls,
And no man here has ever known
All of the pretty girls.

So take what joy may come your way,
And envy not your brothers;
Enjoy your share of fun each day,
And leave the rest for others. 

Poem for the Day

Different 

by Edgar Albert Guest

I DON'T believe in worry, and it's foolish to despair,
And dreading what may happen never lightens any care;
I believe in facing trouble, without fretting o'er the cost,
But it's altogether different when your little one is lost.
Oh, it's altogether different when you think she's gone astray,
When she's toddled from the doorway, and you cannot tell which way;
When you call and get no answer, and you call and call again
You are game, but still you worry—for it's mighty different then.

Then the sweat comes on your forehead, and your nerves begin to dance,
And the only thing you think of is some dreadful circumstance.
You never stop to reason, and you play no hero's part,
For terror—trembling terror—is a lodger in your heart.
You could face financial ruin without parting with your grin,
You could smile to see another take the prize you hoped to win,
But you never cease to worry till you find your child again
In the cupboard where she's hiding—for it's mighty different then. 

Departed Friends

Poem for the Day

Departed Friends
by Edgar Albert Guest

The dead friends live and always will;
Their presence hovers round us still.
It seems to me they come to share
Each joy or sorrow that we bear.
Among the living I can feel
The sweet departed spirits steal,
And whether it be weal or woe,
I walk with those I used to know.
I can recall them to my side
Whenever I am struggle-tried;
I've but to wish for them, and they
Come trooping gayly down the way,
And I can tell to them my grief
And from their presence find relief.
In sacred memories below
Still live the friends of long ago. 

Denial

Poem for the Day

Denial
by Edgar Albert Guest

I'd like to give 'em all they ask—it hurts to have to answer, 'No,'
And say they cannot have the things they tell me they are wanting so;
Yet now and then they plead for what I know would not be good to give
Or what I can't afford to buy, and that's the hardest hour I live.
They little know or understand how happy I would be to grant
Their every wish, yet there are times it isn't wise, or else I can't.
And sometimes, too, I can't explain the reason when they question why
Their pleadings for some passing joy it is my duty to deny.
I only know I'd like to see them smile forever on life's way;
I would not have them shed one tear or ever meet a troubled day.
And I would be content with life and gladly face each dreary task,
If I could always give to them the little treasures that they ask.
Sometimes we pray to God above and ask for joys that are denied,
And when He seems to scorn our plea, in bitterness we turn aside.
And yet the Father of us all, Who sees and knows just what is best,
May wish, as often here we wish, that He could grant what we request. 

Defeat

Poem for the Day

Defeat
by Edgar Albert Guest

No one is beat till he quits,
No one is through till he stops,
No matter how hard Failure hits,
No matter how often he drops,
A fellow's not down till he lies
In the dust and refuses to rise

Fate can slam him and bang him around.
And batter his frame till he's sore,
But she never can say that he's downed
While he bobs up serenely for more.
A fellow's not dead till he dies,
Nor beat till no longer he tries. 

Daddies

Poem for the Day

Daddies
by Edgar Albert Guest

I would rather be the daddy
Of a romping, roguish crew,
Of a bright-eyed chubby laddie
And a little girl or two,
Than the monarch of a nation
In his high and lofty seat
Taking empty adoration
From the subjects at his feet.

I would rather own their kisses
As at night to me they run,
Than to be the king who misses
All the simpler forms of fun.
When his dreary day is ending
He is dismally alone,
But when my sun is descending
There are joys for me to own.

He may ride to horns and drumming;
I must walk a quiet street,
But when once they see me coming
Then on joyous, flying feet
They come racing to me madly
And I catch them with a swing
And I say it proudly, gladly,
That I'm happier than a king.

You may talk of lofty places,
You may boast of pomp and power,
Men may turn their eager faces
To the glory of an hour,
But give me the humble station
With its joys that long survive,
For the daddies of the nation
Are the happiest men alive. 

Courage, Courage, Courage!

Poem for the Day

Courage, Courage, Courage!
by Edgar Albert Guest

When the burden grows heavy, and rough is the way, 
When you falter and slip, and it isn't your day, 
And your best doesn't measure to what is required, 
When you know in your heart that you're fast growing tired, 
With the odds all against you, there's one thing to do: 
That is, call on your courage and see the thing through.

Who battles for victory ventures defeat. 
Misfortune is something we all have to meet ; 
Take the loss with the grace you would take in the gain. 
When things go against you, don't whine or complain; 
Just call on your courage and grin if you can. 
Though you fail to succeed, do not fail as a man.

There are dark days and stormy, which come to us all, 
When about us in ruin our hopes seem to fall. 
But stand to whatever you happen to meet— 
We must all drink the bitter as well as the sweet. 
And the test of your courage is: What do you do 
In the hour when reverses are coming to you.

Never changed is the battle by curse or regret, 
Though you whimper and whine, still the end must be met 
And who fights a good fight, though he struggle in vain, 
Shall have many a vict'ry to pay for his pain.
So take your reverses as part of the plan 
Which God has devised for creating a man. 

Courage

Poem for the Day

Courage
by Edgar Albert Guest

Courage isn't a brilliant dash,
A daring deed in a moment's flash;
It isn't an instantaneous thing
Born of despair with a sudden spring
It isn't a creature of flickered hope
Or the final tug at a slipping rope;
But it's something deep in the soul of man
That is working always to serve some plan.

Courage isn't the last resort
In the work of life or the game of sport;
It isn't a thing that a man can call
At some future time when he's apt to fall;
If he hasn't it now, he will have it not
When the strain is great and the pace is hot.
For who would strive for a distant goal
Must always have courage within his soul.

Courage isn't a dazzling light
That flashes and passes away from sight;
It's a slow, unwavering, ingrained trait
With the patience to work and the strength to wait.
It's part of a man when his skies are blue,
It's part of him when he has work to do.
The brave man never is freed of it.
He has it when there is no need of it.

Courage was never designed for show;
It isn't a thing that can come and go;
It's written in victory and defeat
And every trial a man may meet.
It's part of his hours, his days and his years,
Back of his smiles and behind his tears.
Courage is more than a daring deed:
It's the breath of life and a strong man's creed. 

Couldn't Live Without You

Poem for the Day

Couldn't Live Without You
by Edgar Albert Guest

You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways,
Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze;
You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours,
And you leave a trail o' ruin on the walls an' on the doors,
An' I wonder, as I watch you, an' your curious tricks I see,
Whatever is the reason that you mean so much to me.

You're just a chubby rascal with a grin upon your face,
Just seven years o' gladness, an' a hard and trying case;
You think the world's your playground, an' in all you say an' do
You fancy everybody ought to bow an' scrape to you;
Dull care's a thing you laugh at just as though 'twill never be,
So I wonder, little fellow, why you mean so much to me.

Now your face is smeared with candy or perhaps it's only dirt,
An' it's really most alarming how you tear your little shirt;
But I have to smile upon you, an' with all your wilful ways,
I'm certain that I need you 'round about me all my days;
Yes, I've got to have you with me, for somehow it's come to be
That I couldn't live without you, for you're all the world to me. 

Contradictin' Joe

Poem of the Day

Contradictin' Joe
by Edgar Albert Guest

Heard of Contradictin' Joe?
Most contrary man I know.
Always sayin', 'That's not so.'

Nothing's ever said, but he
Steps right up to disagree- 
Quarrelsome as he can be.

If you start in to recite
All the details of a fight,
He'll butt in to set you right.

Start a story that is true,
He'll begin correctin' you- 
Make you out a liar, too!

Mention time o' year or day,
Makes no difference what you say,
Nothing happened just that way.

Bet you, when his soul takes flight,
An' the angels talk at night,
He'll butt in to set 'em right.

There where none should have complaints
He will be with 'no's' and 'ain'ts'
Contradictin' all the saints. 

Contentment

Poem for the Day

Contentment
by Edgar Albert Guest

When e'er I 'm sad, why then I 'm glad
To think that I 'm no sadder;
And when I 'm glad, I 'm a happy lad
To think none could be gladder. 

Constant Beauty

Poem for the Day

Constant Beauty
by Edgar Albert Guest

It's good to have the trees again, the singing of the breeze again,
It's good to see the lilacs bloom as lovely as of old.
It's good that we can feel again the touch of beauties real again,
For hearts and minds, of sorrow now, have all that they can hold.

The roses haven't changed a bit, nor have the lilacs stranged a bit,
They bud and bloom the way they did before the war began.
The world is upside down to-day, there's much to make us frown to-day,
And gloom and sadness everywhere beset the path of man.

But now the lilacs bloom again and give us their perfume again,
And now the roses smile at us and nod along the way;
And it is good to see again the blossoms on each tree again,
And feel that nature hasn't changed the way we have to-day.

Oh, we have changed from what we were; we're not the carefree lot we were;
Our hearts are filled with sorrow now and grave concern and pain,
But it is good to see once more, the blooming lilac tree once more,
And find the constant roses here to comfort us again. 

Consolation

Poem for the Day

Consolation
by Edgar Albert Guest

SO YOU 'RE sobbin' in the night time, an' you 're sighin' through the day, 
An' your heart is ever callin' for the loved one gone away; 
An' you're lonely, oh, so lonely! an' there's nothin' friends can do,
That will start the old light shinin' in those tender eyes of blue.

I 'm not goin' to try to tell you that you shouldn't sit an' sigh, 
An' I 'm not the one to whisper: 'You'll feel better by an' by;'
But joy isn't everlasting till this earthly life is done,
If it was, no cloud would ever hide the shinin' mornin' sun.

We must sip of joy an' sorrow, we must weep an' laugh in turn, 
We must win love but to lose it, an' our hearts with grief must burn; 
For the lasting joys are Heaven's, we can't hope to find them here, 
Every one who loves must some day weep beside a loved one's bier.

To have known love an' deserved it, is our highest point of bliss, 
There 's no happiness for mortals that can greater be than this; 
An' though Death comes in an' robs us of our priceless jewels, we 
Who have loved an' lost know something of the joys that are to be. 

Compensation

Poem for the Day

Compensation
by Edgar Albert Guest

I'd like to think when life is done
That I had filled a needed post. 
That here and there I'd paid my fare
With more than idle talk and boast; 
That I had taken gifts divine.
The breath of life and manhood fine,
And tried to use them now and then 
In service for my fellow men.

I'd hate to think when life is through
That I had lived my round of years 
A useless kind, that leaves behind
No record in this vale of tears; 
That I had wasted all my days
By treading only selfish ways,
And that this world would be the same 
If it had never known my name.

I'd like to think that here and there,
When I am gone, there shall remain 
A happier spot that might have not
Existed had I toiled for gain; 
That someone's cheery voice and smile
Shall prove that I had been worth while;
That I had paid with something fine 
My debt to God for life divine. 

Clinching the Bolt

Poem for the Day

Clinching the Bolt
by Edgar Albert Guest

It needed just an extra turn to make the bolt secure,
A few more minutes on the job and then the work was sure;
But he begrudged the extra turn, and when the task was through,
The man was back for more repairs in just a day or two.
Two men there are in every place, and one is only fair,
The other gives the extra turn to every bolt that's there;
One man is slip-shod in his work and eager to be quit,
The other never leaves a task until he's sure of it.
The difference 'twixt good and bad is not so very much,
A few more minutes at the task, an extra turn or touch,
A final test that all is right—and yet the men are few
Who seem to think it worth their while these extra things to do.
The poor man knows as well as does the good man how to work,
But one takes pride in every task, the other likes to shirk;
With just as little as he can, one seeks his pay to earn,
The good man always gives the bolt that clinching, extra turn. 

Chums

Poem of the Day

Chums
by Edgar Albert Guest

HUSBAND and wife for fourteen years!
And just like children now,
As fond of one another as
The day they took their vow.
Where he goes she goes, hand in hand,
And thus their record sums,
Through all those years of joy and strife
They really have been chums.

Husband and wife. No, more than that,
For husbands oft are known,
In search of pleasure now and then,
To journey off alone;
And wives have clubs and other things
That interest them more
Than business plans their husbands make,
When honeymooning's o'er.

Not so with them — through weal or woe,
Through sunshine and through rain, 
Together they have journeyed on;
She cheered when all seemed vain. 
His greatest joys have always been
The ones that she could share, 
We knew that when we saw the one,
The other must be there.

If I could change the marriage rite
That binds a pair for life,
'T would be to drop that stilted phrase,
'You 're husband, now, and wife.' 
For just one little word, I think,
The knot far more becomes; 
I 'd like to hear the parson say:
'Beloved, now you 're chums.'