A Scare

Poem for the Day:

A Scare

by Edgar Albert Guest

There are noises that freeze up the blood,
There's the sound of the burglar at night
As he's picking the lock, and the thud
Of a wind-worried door I thought tight;
But there's nothing that frightens me more
Nor causes such horrible dread
As the bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.

The coal pile may rattle and roll
As it will in its uncanny way,
But I keep my nerves under control.
The neighbor's pet canine may bay
At the moon, and I merely turn o'er,
But I lose absolutely my head
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.

A shot may ring out in the street,
And 'murder' a woman may yell;
I may listen to scurrying feet
But I handle myself rather well.
A dark house I'll even explore,
But my heart stops as though I were dead
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.

I know that the old mothers say
That once every baby must fall,
That they seldom are hurt in that way
And really don't mind it at all;
But still terror closes each pore
And my hair stands up straight on my head
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed. 

Edgar Albert Guest

A Real Thriller

A Real Thriller - Poem by Edgar Albert Guest

We were speakin' of excitement, an' the hair upliftin' thrills
That sorter dot life's landscape, like the bill board ads. for pills,
An' one feller spoke of bein' in a railroad wreck or two
An' another one of skatin' on some ice that let him through.
Then a meek-faced little brother in the smoker's corner said:
'I'll admit you folks have suffered temporary fear 'an dread,
But, tell me, have you ever ridden sixteen miles at night
In a livery stable cutter, when the snow was deep an' white
An' discovered, when attracted by the lash's singin' cuts
That the driver's full of whisky an' the road is full of ruts?

'Don't talk to me of terror, 'less you've ridden in a sleigh
Through a strange an' barren country, jus' before the break o' day
When it's blacker than your derby, an' you're shiverin' with cold
An' the fear that in a minute down a chasm you'll be rolled.
I would volplane in a biplane, though I'm not a Wilbur Wright,
I would join the crazy Frenchman in his somersaulting flight.
I would even scoff at Villa or some other Greaser thug,
An' not worry that my body soon would stop a leaden slug.
But I'd pass up midnight riding, where a deep ravine abuts
When the driver's full of whisky an' the road is full of ruts.

'I never for one minute doubt that there's a Providence,
A wiser power above us, something more than mortal sense;
A wisdom that is deeper than the wisdom man has shown,
A mercy that is sweeter than we selfish mortals own.
That there is a God in Heaven is as sure as sure can be,
An' each day that I am living certain proof of it I see.
If we'd have it manifested, there's no need to go to schools,
Or to scholars or the sages—we may learn it from the fools.
One must really be watched over by an eye that never shuts
When the driver's full of whisky and the road is full of ruts.' 

Edgar Albert Guest

A Preference

Poem for the Day

A Preference

by Edgar Albert Guest

I'd rather be considered dull
Than use my brain denouncing things;
I'd rather not be critical
And utter words that carry stings.
I'd rather never speak at all
Than speak as one who seems to feel
That other's faults, howe'er so small,
It proves him clever to reveal.

I have no wish to pose on earth
As born to judge my fellow men;
I'd rather praise them for their worth;
If failures, bid them try again.
If faulty effort I behold,
In silence, let me pass it by,
If I must leave it unextolled,
At least the toiler shall not sigh.

No reputation would I gain
For wisdom, if in gaining it
I cause some humble worker pain
And wound him by my flash of wit.
There is no cleverness in sneers,
A fool can scoff in manner pert;
Great wisdom by this test appears
In never saying things that hurt. 

Edgar Albert Guest

A Prayer

Poem for the Day:

A Prayer
by Edgar Albert Guest

God grant me kindly thought
And patience through the day,
And in the things I've wrought
Let no man living say
That hate's grim mark has stained
What little joy I've gained.

God keep my nature sweet,
Teach me to bear a blow,
Disaster and defeat,
And no resentment show.
If failure must be mine
Sustain this soul of mine.

God grant me strength to face
Undaunted day or night;
To stoop to no disgrace
To win my little fight;
Let me be, when it is o'er,
As manly as before. 

A Plea

Poem of the Day

A Plea
by Edgar Albert Guest

GOD grant me these: the strength to do
Some needed service here;
The wisdom to be brave and true;
The gift of vision clear,
That in each task that comes to me
Some purpose I may plainly see.

God teach me to believe that I
Am stationed at a post,
Although the humblest 'neath the sky,
Where I am needed most.
And that, at last, if I do well
My humble services will tell.

God grant me faith to stand on guard,
Uncheered, unspoke, alone,
And see behind such duty hard
My service to the throne.
Whate'er my task, this be my creed:
I am on earth to fill a need. 

A Place at the Top

Poem of the Day

A Place at the Top
by Edgar Albert Guest

THERE'S a place for you at the top, my boy,
Are you willing to try to get it?
It's true that trouble will try to stop
Your efforts, but will you let it?
The road is long and the path is rough,
Designed for men of the proper stuff,
And you can't get by with a common bluff,
For the way is barred to bluffers.
And ever and ever the weak drop out,
But the strong keep going with courage stout;
They may taste defeat, but never rout,
But it's worth all a fighter suffers.

Up there at the top there 's a place for you,
You may earn it or let it go;
And the world won't care which of these you do,
It's up to yourself to show
Whether you can battle with fate and wrong,
And take hard luck when it comes along
With a nervy grin or a bit of song
Or stop with the quitters tamely.
There's room at the top; you can get there, too,
If you 're ready to fight your own way through.
The odds are heavy, I know, but you
Can win, if you'll face them gamely. 

A Patriotic Creed

Poem of the Day

A Patriotic Creed
by Edgar Albert Guest

To serve my country day by day
At any humble post I may;
To honor and respect her flag,
To live the traits of which I brag;
To be American in deed
As well as in my printed creed.

To stand for truth and honest toil,
To till my little patch of soil,
And keep in mind the debt I owe
To them who died that I might know
My country, prosperous and free,
And passed this heritage to me.

I always must in trouble's hour
Be guided by the men in power;
For God and country I must live,
My best for God and country give;
No act of mine that men may scan
Must shame the name American.

To do my best and play my part,
American in mind and heart;
To serve the flag and bravely stand
To guard the glory of my land;
To be American in deed:
God grant me strength to keep this creed! 

A Patriot

Poem of the Day

A Patriot
by Edgar Albert Guest

It's funny when a feller wants to do his little bit,
And wants to wear a uniform and lug a soldier's kit,
And ain't afraid of submarines nor mines that fill the sea,
They will not let him go along to fight for liberty
They make him stay at home and be his mother's darling pet,
But you can bet there'll come a time when they will want me yet.

I want to serve the Stars and Stripes, I want to go and fight,
I want to lick the Kaiser good, and do the job up right.
I know the way to use a gun and I can dig a trench
And I would like to go and help the English and the French.
But no, they say, you cannot march away to stirring drums;
Be mother's angel boy at home; stay there and twirl your thumbs.

I've read about the daring boys that fight up in the sky;
It seems to me that that must be a splendid way to die.
I'd like to drive an aeroplane and prove my courage grim
And get above a German there and drop a bomb on him,
But they won't let me go along to help the latest drive;
They say my mother needs me here because I'm only five 

A Pat on the Back

Poem for the Day

A Pat on the Back
by Edgar Albert Guest

A PAT on the back is a wonderful thing, 
It gives a man courage to whistle and sing; 
When hope is departing, the outlook is grim, 
A pat on the back then says volumes to him. 
It whispers: 'Keep at it! You're doing all right, 
Just dig in your toes and get busy and fight, 
There's one man behind you, go to it, old man, 
One pal who is sure that you can, that you can.' 

A pat on the back from a stranger or friend
When your jaw starts to sag and your knees start to bend
Will bring you right up with new courage and grit 
And you'll keep in the fight when you were going to quit,
You'll feel it, you'll hear it—yes, actually hear it— 
For hours saying 'dig in, old fellow. Don't fear it, 
That isn't as hard as it looks. Be a man, 
There's a fellow back there who believes that you can.'

Just a pat on the back. And for days and for days, 
No matter how far you may roam, it still stays 
By your side, and no matter how hard be your fight 
It's whispering always: 'You'll come out all right. 
There's a fellow back there who's believing in you, 
Expecting each minute to see you come through 
With your colors still flying and leading your clan!' 
And the first thing you know you are saying: 'I can.' 

Oh, a pat on the back is a wonderful thing, 
The touch of it's magic; I've known it to bring 
Back hopes that were fleeting, and strength that seemed gone
And smiles that had vanished and urge a man on 
When it seemed that he couldn't one step advance more 
Till he conquered. And that's what I'm singing this for;
If you see a poor brother whose nerve's out of whack, 
Just step up and give him a pat on the back. 

A New Baby in the House

Poem for the Day

A New Baby in the House
by Edgar Albert Guest

Something to talk about, something to do,
Something to laugh at the whole day through,
Something to look at with pride and with glee,
Something for friends to come in just to see;
Something you can't sum up all the wonderful things
Of joy and delight which a new baby brings.

There's a smile that is brighter than sunbeams of May,
A wave of farewell as you're starting away,
A glad time of frolic which no one can steal,
A thrill inexpressible, lovely to feel.
There's something to boast of and something to tell
When a baby has come to the place where you dwell.

There's never an hour that is lonely and drear; 
The days are filled up to the top with good cheer.
You have someone to play with and someone to sing to,
Someone to romp with and someone to cling to;
And always you're finding some pleasure that's new
When God has sent down a glad baby to you. 

A Lullaby

Poem for the Day

A Lullaby - Poem by Edgar Albert Guest

THE dream ship is ready, the sea is like gold
And the fairy prince waits in command;
There's a cargo of wonderful dreams in the hold,
For the baby that seeks Slumberland.
There are fairies in pink and good fairies in white,
A watch o'er the baby to keep,
Now the silver sails fill with the breeze of the night,
All aboard, for the Harbor of Sleep!

I pray that no tempest shall ruffle the sea
Through the long night that he is away;
And I pray the good captain will bring him to me
With a smile at the close of the day.
Oh, soft as his breath be the breezes that blow,
And gentle the long waves that sweep
The wonderful ship that is waiting to go
With my babe to the Harbor of Sleep.

Softly, so softly, the ship slips away
With its silver sails catching the breeze,
The stars in the sky seem to twinkle and say
Our watch we will keep o'er the seas.
And never a tempest shall happen this night,
But peace shall slip down on the deep,
Safe and sound shall return, with the coming of light,
Your babe from the Harbor of Sleep. 

Edgar Albert Guest

A Little the Best Of It

Poem for the Day

A Little the Best Of It
by Edgar Albert Guest

A LITTLE the best of it,
Allus he prayed for,
All th' time lookin'
Per more than he paid for,
Had an idee, that's
What bargains are made for.

Whatever he sold,
Folks made up their minds to it, 
He got th' best of it,
Everyona knew it, 
There warn't any trick
Known, but what he could do it.

Sand in th' sugar,
His thumb on the scales, 
Short weight in flour
An' ten-penny nails, 
Made his own lard,
An' he weighed in th' pails.
Bet when he dies,

An' he makes a clean breast of it, 
Tells good St. Peter
His yarn, with the rest of it, 
He'll make a plea
For a little th' best of it. 

A Lesson From Golf - Golf is like the game of living

Poem for the Day

A Lesson From Golf - Golf is like the game of living
by Edgar Albert Guest

He couldn't use his driver any better on the tee
Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;
I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,
But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;
And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:
He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.

His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through;
I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,
But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn't even frown
When he's tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.
On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,
And it's not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.

He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong;
Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.
When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,
He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,
While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made
And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.

Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are;
If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.
You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue
But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;
So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,
For the man who keeps his temper is the man that's sure to win. 

A Heart to Heart Talk

Poem for the Day

A Heart to Heart Talk
by Edgar Albert Guest

THEY tell me that I 'm spoiling you,
The neighbors say that you should be
For all the awful things you do,
Laid face down over daddy's knee
And spanked and put to bed. That 'a what
The neighbors say, but what say you?
You think you should be loved a lot?
Well, somehow daddy thinks so, too.

They tell me that it isn't right
For me always to take your part, 
I've heard it said you often fight,
And that you'll break your mother's heart. 
The neighbors say that you are bad
And should be whipped, but what say you? 
You think you are too small a lad
To whip. Well, daddy thinks so, too.

What would you do if I were you,
And you were daddy, and they came 
And told, as people always do,
My little deeds, and cried: 'For shame'?
Would you put me across your knee
And spank me as you ought to do? 
What's that? You think you 'd try to be
Forgiving. Well, I think so, too. 

A Greeting

Poem for the Day

A Greeting
by Edgar Albert Guest

IF every day of yours were fine
And every sky of yours were blue, 
You couldn't know such joy of mine, 
The joy o' being friend to you. 

You've brushed away the clouds of care 
And often dried the bitter tears, 
And left a debt I couldn't square
If I should live a thousand years.

I'm wishing you'll as happy be
As I am all this journey through,
Who have this joy to comfort me, 
The joy o' being friend to you. 

A Good World

Poem for the Day

A Good World
by Edgar Albert Guest

IT'S a good old world we're livin' in 
With all its pain an' sorrow; 
A world where friends are givin' in 
To cheer us till tomorrow. 
A world where folks come forward, when 
They see our feet are slippin' 
To help us till we come again 
To where the honey's drippin'.

I reckon that we'd never know
How kind an' good our friends are 
If trouble's face should never show
Off yonder where the bends are. 
If sudden-like there never came
A rain to drench a feller 
We'd miss the friend who made us claim
A share of his umbreller.

If never came to us a woe
That seemed we couldn't bear it, 
We'd never positively know
Which friend would rush to share it. 
We'd miss a heap of sweetness, too,
That we could never borrow, 
A sweetness no one ever knew,
Save it was born of sorrow.

This thought old care has driven in,
An' grief an' trouble taught me, 
It's a good old world we're livin' in
Despite the woes it's brought me. 
For had I never shed a tear,
Nor known what sorrow's rends are, 
I never would have learned down here
How kind an' good my friends are. 

A Good Name

Poem for the Day

(I can hear my grandfather saying this, without using these words)

A Good Name
by Edgar Albert Guest

Men talk too much of gold and fame,
And not enough about a name;
And yet a good name's better far
Than all earth's glistening jewels are.
Who holds his name above all price
And chooses every sacrifice
To keep his earthly record clear,
Can face the world without a fear.

Who never cheats nor lies for gain,
A poor man may, perhaps, remain,
Yet, when at night he goes to rest,
No little voice within his breast
Disturbs his slumber. Conscience clear,
He falls asleep with naught to fear
And when he wakes the world to face
He is not tainted by disgrace.

Who keeps his name without a stain
Wears no man's brand and no man's chain;
He need not fear to speak his mind
In dread of what the world may find.
He then is master of his will;
None may command him to be still,
Nor force him, when he would stand fast,
To flinch before his hidden past.

Not all the gold that men may claim
Can cover up a deed of shame;
Not all the fame of victory sweet
Can free the man who played the cheat;
He lives a slave unto the last
Unto the shame that mars his past.
He only freedom here may own
Whose name a stain has never known. 

A Friend (2)

Poem for the Day

A Friend (2)
by Edgar Albert Guest

A friend is one who takes your hand
And talks a speech you understand
he's partly kindness, partly mirth
And Faith unfaltering in your worths
he's first to cheer you on success,
And last to leave you in distress
A friend is constant, honest, true
In short, old pal, he's just like you. 

A Friend

Poem for the Day

A Friend
by Edgar Albert Guest

A friend is one who stands to share 
Your every touch of grief and care. 
He comes by chance, but stays by choice;
Your praises he is quick to voice.

No grievous fault or passing whim 
Can make an enemy of him. 
And though your need be great or small, 
His strength is yours throughout it all.

No matter where your path may turn
Your welfare is his chief concern. 
No matter what your dream may be 
He prays your triumph soon to see.

There is no wish your tongue can tell 
But what it is your friend's as well. 
The life of him who has a friend 
Is double-guarded to the end.