His Example

Poem for the Day

His Example
by Edgar Albert Guest

There are little eyes upon you, and they're watching night and day;
There are little ears that quickly take in every word you say;
There are little hands all eager to do everything you do,
And a little boy that's dreaming of the day he'll be like you.

You're the little fellow's idol, you're the wisest of the wise;
In his little mind about you no suspicions ever rise;
He believes in you devoutly, holds that all you say and do
He will say and do in your way when he's grown up just like you.

Oh, it sometimes makes me shudder when I hear my boy repeat
Some careless phrase I've uttered in the language of the street;
And it sets my heart to grieving when some little fault I see
And I know beyond all doubting that he picked it up from me.

There's a wide-eyed little fellow who believes you're always right,
And his ears are always open and he watches day and night;
You are setting an example every day in all you do
For the little boy who's waiting to grow up to be like you. 

His Chance

Poem for the Day

How many of us have gotten a chance, then blew it?

His Chance
by Edgar Albert Guest

"I WANT a chance to show what I can do,'
He sighed when others seemed to pass him by;
'There are great problems I could master, too,
Somehow, I never get the chance to try.

Give me a chance to show what I can do,'
This was the burden of his daily whine;
'I might achieve success as well as you,
If opportunity were mine.'

One day they bade him fill another's place,
Another's work they offered him to do;
He grumbled and a frown passed o'er his face,
'I am not paid to do the work of two.' 

Hard Luck

Poem for the Day

Hard Luck
by Edgar Albert Guest

Ain't no use as I can see
In sittin' underneath a tree 
An' growlin' that your luck is bad,
An' that your life is extry sad;
Your life ain't sadder than your neighbor's
Nor any harder are your labors;
It rains on him the same as you,
An' he has work he hates to do;
An' he gits tired an' he gits cross,
An' he has trouble with the boss;
You take his whole life, through an' through,
Why, he's no better off than you.

If whinin' brushed the clouds away
I wouldn't have a word to say;
If it made good friends out o' foes
I'd whine a bit, too, I suppose;
But when I look around an' see
A lot o' men resemblin' me,
An' see 'em sad, an' see 'em gay
With work t' do most every day,
Some full o' fun, some bent with care,
Some havin' troubles hard to bear,
I reckon, as I count my woes,
They're 'bout what everybody knows.

The day I find a man who'll say
He's never known a rainy day,
Who'll raise his right hand up an' swear
In forty years he's had no care,
Has never had a single blow,
An' never known one touch o' woe,
Has never seen a loved one die,
Has never wept or heaved a sigh,
Has never had a plan go wrong,
But allas laughed his way along;
Then I'll sit down an' start to whine
That all the hard luck here is mine. 

Hard Knocks

Poem for the Day

Hard Knocks
by Edgar Albert Guest

I'm not the man to say that failure's sweet, 
Nor tell a chap to laugh when things go wrong; 
I know it hurts to have to take defeat 
An' no one likes to lose before a throng; 
It isn't very pleasant not to win 
When you have done the very best you could; 
But if you're down, get up an' buckle in —
A lickin' often does a fellow good. 

I've seen some chaps who never knew their power 
Until somebody knocked 'em to the floor; 
I've known men who discovered in an hour 
A courage they had never shown before. 
I've seen 'em rise from failure to the top 
By doin' things they hadn't understood 
Before the day disaster made 'em drop — 
A lickin' often does a fellow good. 

Success is not the teacher, wise an' true, 
That gruff old failure is, remember that; 
She's much too apt to make a fool of you, 
Which isn't true of blows that knock you flat. 
Hard knocks are painful things an' hard to bear, 
An' most of us would dodge 'em if we could; 
There's something mighty broadening in care — 
A lickin' often does a fellow good. 

Happiness

Poem for the Day

Happiness
by Edgar Albert Guest

If he sunbeams will not start you to rejoicing, 
If the laughter of your babies you can hear 
Without little songs of gladness gayly voicing, 
If their dancing doesn't drive away your tear; 
If you don't find happiness where they are playing, 
If they do not make your pathways bright and sunny,
Then gladness from your heart has gone a-straying 
And you won't be any happier with money.

If the blue skies bending over you don't thrill you,
If the roses just a-bursting into bloom 
With a sense of perfect pleasure do not fill you,
If the song birds do not chase away your gloom; 
If you cannot find contentment in your cottage
Then your heart for joy has not become a chalice, 
If you cannot, smiling, eat your simple pottage,
Then you'd not be any happier in a palace.

If a troop of healthy, laughing boys and lassies
Doesn't strike you as a reason to rejoice; 
If the glories of the earth, when winter passes,
You behold and still retain a whining voice; 
If it doesn't rouse your spirits to go fishing,
Then your heart is but a cupboard for despair, 
And for money all in vain today you're wishing,
You'd make a most unhappy millionaire. 

Growing Down

Poem for the Day

Growing Down
by Edgar Albert Guest

Time was I thought of growing up,
But that was ere the babies came;
I'd dream and plan to be a man
And win my share of wealth and fame,
For age held all the splendors then
And wisdom seemed life's brightest crown
For mortal brow. It's different now.
Each evening finds me growing down.

I'm not so keen for growing up
To wrinkled cheek and heavy tongue,
And sluggish blood; with little Bud
I long to be a comrade young.
His sports are joys I want to share,
His games are games I want to play,
An old man grim's no chum for him
And so I'm growing down to-day.

I'm back to marbles and to tops,
To flying kites and one-ol'-cat;
'Fan acres!' I now loudly cry;
I also take my turn at bat;
I've had my fling at growing up
And want no old man's fair renown.
To be a boy is finer joy,
And so I've started growing down.

Once more I'm learning games I knew
When I was four and five and six,
I'm going back along life's track
To find the same old-fashioned tricks,
And happy are the hours we spend
Together, without sigh or frown.
To be a boy is Age's joy,
And so to him I'm growing down. 

Green Apple Time

Poem for the Day

This one reminds me of the days in Plummers Landing when I took the green apples from my grandparents tree behind the store. Grandma always warned me that I was going to make my stomach upset, yet it never happened. Loved those fresh green apples.

Green Apple Time
by Edgar Albert Guest

Green apple time! an', Oh, the joy
Once more to be a healthy boy,
Casting a longin' greedy eye
At every tree he passes by!
Riskin' the direst consequence
To sneak inside a neighbor's fence
An' shake from many a loaded limb
The fruit that seems so near to him
Gosh! but once more I'd like to be
The boy I was in eighty-three.

Here I am sittin' with my pipe,
Waitin' for apples to get ripe;
Waitin' until the friendly sun
Has bronzed 'em all an' says they're done;
Not darin' any more to climb
An' pick a few afore their time.
No legs to run, no teeth to chew
The way that healthy youngsters do;
Jus' old enough to sit an' wait
An' pick my apple from a plate.

Plate apples ain't to be compared
With those you've ventured for an' dared.
It's winnin' 'em from branches high,
Or nippin' 'em when no one's by,
Or findin' 'em the time you feel
You really need another meal,
Or comin' unexpectedly
Upon a farmer's loaded tree
An' grabbin' all that you can eat,
That goes to make an apple sweet.

Green apple time! Go to it, boy,
An' cram yourself right full o' joy;
Watch for the farmer's dog an' run;
There'll come a time it can't be done.
There'll come a day you can't digest
The fruit you've stuffed into your vest,
Nor climb, but you'll sit down like me
An' watch 'em ripening on the tree,
An' jus' like me you'll have to wait
To pick your apples from a plate. 

Greatness

Poem for the Day

Greatness
by Edgar Albert Guest

We can be great by helping one another; 
We can be loved for very simple deeds; 
Who has the grateful mention of a brother 
Has really all the honor that he needs. 

We can be famous for our works of kindness —
Fame is not born alone of strength or skill; 
It sometimes comes from deafness and from blindness 
To petty words and faults, and loving still. 

We can be rich in gentle smiles and sunny: 
A jeweled soul exceeds a royal crown. 
The richest men sometimes have little money, 
And Croesus oft's the poorest man in town. 

Gratitude

Poem for the Day

Gratitude
by Edgar Albert Guest

Be grateful for the kindly friends that walk along your way;
Be grateful for the skies of blue that smile from day to day;
Be grateful for the health you own, the work you find to do,
For round about you there are men less fortunate than you.

Be grateful for the growing trees, the roses soon to bloom, 
The tenderness of kindly hearts that shared your days of gloom; 
Be grateful for the morning dew, the grass beneath your feet, 
The soft caresses of your babes and all their laughter sweet.

Acquire the grateful habit, learn to see how blest you are, 
How much there is to gladden life, how little life to mar! 
And what if rain shall fall to-day and you with grief are sad; 
Be grateful that you can recall the joys that you have had. 

Grandma

Poem for the Day

Grandma
by Edgar Albert Guest

There's a twinkle in her eye,
O, so merry! O, so sly!
That you never see the wrinkles in her face; 
She's so full of fun and play 
That you never see the gray 
In her tresses, and you never see a trace 
Of the feebleness of years, 
Born of heartaches and of tears; 
She's the youngest of the children still today. 
All the charm of youth remains, 
All her beauty she retains. 
O, she's right up to the minute in her way.

Just because she's seventy-two
Any old thing will not do,
She believes that she must always look her best;
Though her gowns are mostly black,
She was never known to lack
A little dash of color at her breast. 
'Just because I'm old,' says she, 
'Do not think I'm going to be
Out of style and frumpy looking, for I'm not!
And when folks come in to call,
I'm not going to wear a shawl
And cover up the splendid things I've got.'

O, dear grandma, let me say,
As I look at you today,
In your stylish gown of satin with its little touch of blue;
As I see your merry eye, 
When the years have wandered by 
May I only be as happy and as lovable as you. 
May I come from out the gloom 
Of my troubles with the bloom 
Of a heart that's ever youthful still in view, 
With a dash of color gay 
To relieve the somber gray, 
May I be as young as you at seventy-two.