Grace at Evening

Poem for the Day

Grace at Evening
by Edgar Albert Guest

For all the beauties of the day,
The innocence of childhood's play,
For health and strength and laughter sweet,
Dear Lord, our thanks we now repeat.

For this our daily gift of food
We offer now our gratitude,
For all the blessings we have known
Our debt of gratefulness we own.

Here at the table now we pray,
Keep us together down the way;
May this, our family circle, be
Held fast by love and unity.

Grant, when the shades of night shall fall,
Sweet be the dreams of one and all;
And when another day shall break
Unto Thy service may we wake. 

Gossip

Poem for the Day

Gossip
by Edgar Albert Guest

A FELLOW can't help hearing
Hateful things about another,
But a fellow can be careful
Not to tell them to his brother.

Sit and listen, if you want to,
When the spiteful things are said,
But don't pass on the scandal,
Keep a still tongue in your head.

Spread no little tale of evil,
Whether right or whether wrong, 
You may barken unto gossip,
But don't send the tale along. 

Good Books

Poem for the Day

Good Books
by Edgar Albert Guest

Good books are friendly things to own.
If you are busy they will wait.
They will not call you on the phone
Or wake you if the hour is late.
They stand together row by row,
Upon the low shelf or the high.
But if you're lonesome this you know:
You have a friend or two nearby.

The fellowship of books is real.
They're never noisy when you're still.
They won't disturb you at your meal.
They'll comfort you when you are ill.
The lonesome hours they'll always share.
When slighted they will not complain. 
And though for them you've ceased to care
Your constant friends they'll still remain.

Good books your faults will never see
Or tell about them round the town.
If you would have their company
You merely have to take them down.
They'll help you pass the time away,
They'll counsel give if that you need.
He has true friends for night and day
Who has a few good books to read. 

God Made This Day for Me

Poem for the Day

God Made This Day for Me
by Edgar Albert Guest

Jes' the sort o' weather and jes' the sort of sky
Which seem to suit my fancy, with the white clouds driftin' by
On a sea o' smooth blue water. Oh, I ain't an egotist,
With an 'I' in all my thinkin', but I'm willin' to insist
That the Lord who made us humans an' the birds in every tree
Knows my special sort o' weather an' he made this day fer me.

This is jes' my style o' weather—sunshine floodin' all the place,
An' the breezes from the eastward blowin' gently on my face;
An' the woods chock full o' singin' till you'd think birds never had
A single care to fret 'em or a grief to make 'em sad.
Oh, I settle down contented in the shadow of a tree,
An' tell myself right proudly that the day was made fer me.

It's my day, my sky an' sunshine, an' the temper o' the breeze—
Here's the weather I would fashion could I run things as I please:
Beauty dancin' all around me, music ringin' everywhere,
Like a weddin' celebration—why, I've plumb fergot my care
An' the tasks I should be doin' fer the rainy days to be,
While I'm huggin' the delusion that God made this day fer me. 

Friendship

Poem for the Day

Friendship - Poem by Edgar Albert Guest

You can buy, if you've got money, all you need to drink and eat,
You can pay for bread and honey, and can keep your palate sweet.
But when trouble comes to fret you, and when sorrow comes your way,
For the gentle hand of friendship that you need you cannot pay.

You can buy with gold and silver things you've got to have to wear,
You can purchase all that's needful, when your skies
are bright and fair;
But when clouds begin to gather and when trouble rules the day
Your money doesn't lure a friend worth while to come your way.

For the hand that's warm and gripping and the heart's that tender, too,
Are what all men living sigh for when they're sorrowful and blue,
For there's nothing that's so soothing and so comforting right then
As the gladly given friendship of a fellow's fellow men.

A hand upon your shoulder and a whispered word of cheer
Are the things that keep you going when your trouble time is here;
And you'll hate the gold you've gathered and the buildings that you own
If you have to bear your troubles and your sorrows all alone.

If you've served a golden idol you will get as your reward
All the luxuries of living that the coins of gold afford,
But you'll be the poorest mortal and the saddest in the end
When the clouds of trouble gather—and you're hungry for a friend. 

Friends

Poem for the Day

Friends
by Edgar Albert Guest

Ain't it fine when things are going
Topsy-turvy and askew
To discover someone showing
Good old-fashioned faith in you?
Ain't it good when life seems dreary
And your hopes about to end,
Just to feel the handclasp cheery
Of a fine old loyal friend?
Gosh! one fellow to another
Means a lot from day to day,
Seems we're living for each other
In a friendly sort of way.
When a smile or cheerful greetin'
Means so much to fellows sore,
Seems we ought to keep repeatin'
Smiles an' praises more an' more.

Forgetful Pa

Poem for the Day

Forgetful Pa
by Edgar Albert Guest

My Pa says that he used to be
A bright boy in geography;
An' when he went to school he knew
The rivers an' the mountains, too,
An' all the capitals of states
An' bound'ry lines an' all the dates
They joined the union. But last night
When I was studyin' to recite
I asked him if he would explain
The leading industries of Maine—
He thought an' thought an' thought a lot,
An' said, 'I knew, but I've forgot.'


My Pa says when he was in school
He got a hundred as a rule;
An' grammar was a thing he knew
Becoz he paid attention to
His teacher, an' he learned the way
To write good English, an' to say
The proper things, an' I should be
As good a boy in school as he.
But once I asked him could he give
Me help with the infinitive—
He scratched his head and said: 'Great Scott!
I used to know, but I've forgot.


My Pa says when he was a boy
Arithmetic was just a toy;
He learned his tables mighty fast
An' every term he always passed,
An' had good marks, an' teachers said:
'That youngster surely has a head.'
But just the same I notice now
Most every time I ask him how
To find the common multiple,
He says, 'That's most unusual!
Once I'd have told you on the spot,
But somehow, sonny, I've forgot.'
I'm tellin' you just what is what,


My Pa's forgot an awful lot! 

For Your Boy - and Mine

Poem for the Day

For Your Boy - and Mine
by Edgar Albert Guest

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall rest,
But that our children after us shall know life at its best;
For all we care about ourselves—a crust of bread or two,
A place to sleep and clothes to wear is all that we'd pursue.
We'd tramp the world on sunny days, both light of heart and mind,
And give no thought to days to come or days we leave behind.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall play,
But that our children after us shall tread a merry way.
We brave the toil of life for them, for them we clamber high,
And if 'twould spare them hurt and pain, for them we'd gladly die.
If we had but ourselves to serve, we'd quit the ways of pride
And with the simplest joys of earth we'd all be satisfied.

The best for them is what we dream. Our little girls and boys
Must know the finest life can give of comforts and of joys.
They must be shielded well from woe and kept secure from care,
And if we could, upon our backs, their burdens we would bear.
And so once more we rise to-day to face the battle zone
That those who follow us may know the Flag that we have known.

Your dream and my dream is not that we shall live;
The greatest joys we hope to claim are those that we shall give.
We face the heat and strife of life, its battle and its toil
That those who follow us may know the best of freedom's soil.
And if we knew that by our death we'd keep that flag on high,
For your boy and my boy, how gladly we would die. 

For the Living

Poem for the Day

For the Living
by Edgar Albert Guest

If you like a brother here, 
Tell him so; 
If you hold his friendship dear, 
Let him know; 
All the roses that you spread 
On his bier when he is dead 
Are not worth one kind word said 
Years ago.

You can help a brother now
If you will 
Smooth the furrows from his brow; 
You can kill
The despair that's in his heart 
With a word, and ease the smart. 
So why stand you now apart 
Keeping still?

You can help a brother when
He is here; 
He would hold your praises then 
Very dear.
But absurdly still you stay 
And withhold what you could say 
That would cheer him on his way 
For his bier.

What, I wonder, if the dead
Saw and heard 
What is done and what is said 
Afterward,
Would they utter in reply? 
Would they smile and ask us why, 
When the time to help was nigh, 
No one stirred?

'Keep your roses for the living,'
They would say, 
'Waste no time in praises giving 
Us today;
Strew some living brother's way so, 
If you like another, say so, 
For the thing that now you praise so 
Is but clay.' 

For Others - And His Wife

Poem for the Day

For Others - And His Wife
by Edgar Albert Guest

HE took off his hat to the woman next door,
But he wouldn't do that for his wife;
He picked up the handkerchief dropped Jon the floor,
But he wouldn't do that for his wife;
He ran for a chair when a fair maiden stood,
Did everything that a gentleman should,
When leaving he helped her get into her hood,
But he wouldn't do that for his wife.

He offered his arm to the fair Mrs. Brown,
But he wouldn't do that for his wife;
He gallantly carried her parcels from town,
But he wouldn't do that for his wife;
He helped her alight from the trolley car then,
Didn't stand on the platform to smoke with the men,
But sat down beside her. I'll say it again
That he wouldn't do that for his wife.

If it 'a proper these little attentions to pay,
Then he ought to pay them to his wife; 
No man is polite, let me venture to say,
If he isn't polite to his wife.
Fair woman deserves all our courtesies — true,
And enough for her no man is able to do,
But the man who's a gentleman right through and through,
Is a gentleman first to his wife. 

Father (and Mother)

Poem for the Day

Father (and Mother)
by Edgar Albert Guest

My father knows the proper way 
The nation should be run;
He tells us children every day
Just what should now be done.
He knows the way to fix the trusts,
He has a simple plan;
But if the furnace needs repairs,
We have to hire a man.
My father, in a day or two
Could land big thieves in jail;
There's nothing that he cannot do,
He knows no word like "fail."
"Our confidence" he would restore,
Of that there is no doubt;
But if there is a chair to mend,
We have to send it out.

All public questions that arise,
He settles on the spot;
He waits not till the tumult dies,
But grabs it while it's hot.
In matters of finance he can
Tell Congress what to do;
But, O, he finds it hard to meet
His bills as they fall due.

It almost makes him sick to read
The things law-makers say;
Why, father's just the man they need,
He never goes astray.
All wars he'd very quickly end,
As fast as I can write it;
But when a neighbor starts a fuss,
'Tis mother has to fight it.

In conversation father can
Do many wondrous things;
He's built upon a wiser plan
Than presidents or kings.
He knows the ins and outs of each
And every deep transaction;
We look to him for theories,
But look to ma for action. 

Father

Poem for the Day

Father
by Edgar Albert Guest

Used to wonder just why father 
Never had much time for play, 
Used to wonder why he'd rather 
Work each minute of the day. 
Used to wonder why he never 
Loafed along the road an' shirked; 
Can't recall a time whenever 
Father played while others worked. 

Father didn't dress in fashion, 
Sort of hated clothing new; 
Style with him was not a passion; 
He had other things in view. 
Boys are blind to much that's going 
On about 'em day by day, 
And I had no way of knowing 
What became of father's pay. 

All I knew was when I needed 
Shoes I got 'em on the spot; 
Everything for which I pleaded, 
Somehow, father always got. 
Wondered, season after season, 
Why he never took a rest, 
And that I might be the reason 
Then I never even guessed. 

Father set a store on knowledge; 
If he'd lived to have his way 
He'd have sent me off to college 
And the bills been glad to pay. 
That, I know, was his ambition: 
Now and then he used to say 
He'd have done his earthly mission 
On my graduation day. 

Saw his cheeks were getting paler, 
Didn't understand just why; 
Saw his body growing frailer, 
Then at last I saw him die. 
Rest had come! His tasks were ended, 
Calm was written on his brow; 
Father's life was big and splendid, 
And I understand it now. 

Fame

Poem for the Day

Fame
by Edgar Albert Guest

FAME is a fickle jade at best,
And he who seeks to win her smile 
Must trudge, disdaining play or rest, 
O'er many a long and weary mile.

Nor must he work alone for her, 
Nor labor only for her cheers, 
For doing this, it may occur
That he shall only reap her sneers.

But when he's ceased to care for self, 
And is content to work and wait 
For something better far than pelf,
Fame welcomes him among the great. 

Faith

Poem for the Day

Faith
by Edgar Albert Guest

This much I know:
God does not wrong us here,
Though oft His judgments seem severe 
And reason falters 'neath the blow,
Some day we'll learn 'twas better so.

So oft I've erred
In trifling matters of my own concern;
So oft I've blundered at the simplest turn, 
Chosen the false path or the foolish word
That what I call my judgment seems absurd.

My puny reason cries
Against the bitter and the cruel blows,
Measuring the large world by the inch it knows,
Seeing all joy and pain through selfish eyes,
Not knowing hurt and suffering may be wise.

But I have come to see,
So vast God's love, so infinite His plan
That it is well it was not left to man 
To alter or to say what is to be,
When reason failed, faith also then would flee.

God knoweth best!
Through the black night and agony of grief
Faith whispers low: 'Hold fast to your belief!
In time His purpose He shall manifest,
Then shall you learn how greatly you were blest.'