Making The House a Home

Poem for the Day

Making The House a Home
by Edgar Albert Guest

Here's our story, page by page,
Happy youth and middle-age,
Smile and tear-drop, weal and woe
Such as all who live must know- 
Here it is all written down,
Not for glory or renown,
But the hope when we are gone
Those who bravely follow on
Meeting care and pain and grief
Will not falter in belief. 

Ma and Me

Poem for the Day

(Especially for Nita)

Ma and Me
by Edgar Albert Guest

There've been times we'd disagree 
Somethin' awful, Ma an' me; 
Times when I would bang the door 
Never to come back no more, 
An' go stompin' down the street 
Sayin' things I won't repeat; 
Vowin' that the only course 
For us two was a di-vorce. 
Then when it come time for tea 
We'd make up, would Ma an' me.

We've had many a lively spat
Arguin' over this an' that.
There've been times when Ma got mad,
Said enough o' me she'd had,
Tired o' listenin' to me jaw;
Reckoned that she'd go t' law,
Tell the judge her tale o' woe,
An' my own way I could go.
Then the children we would see
An' we'd laugh, would Ma an' me.

Ma an' me ain't angels quite, 
Neither of us does things right. 
She's got reason fer complaint, 
She ain't married to a saint; 
Guess I've tried her patience more 
Than the children round the door; 
An' at times, by all that's fine, 
Ma has certainly tried mine. 
But together still are we, 
Pals an' lovers — Ma an' me.

We've just plodded on the way 
Hand in hand from day to day, 
Workin' for the greatest good, 
Doin' just the best we could. 
Gettin' mad, as people will, 
But remainin' faithful still. 
An' we've never gone to bed 
Till we took back all we said, 
Kissed, an' vowed we'd always be 
Pals an' sweethearts—Ma an' me. 

Lost Opportunities

Poem for the Day

Longer than most I post, but the message is well worth the read.

Lost Opportunities
by Edgar Albert Guest

'When I am rich,' he used to say,
'A thousand joys I'll give away;
I'll walk among the poor I find
And unto one and all be kind.
I'll place a wreath of roses red
Upon the bier of all my dead;
I'll help the struggling youth to climb;
In doing good I'll spend my time;
To all in need I'll friendly be
The day that fortune smiles on me.'

He never guessed that being kind
Depends upon the heart and mind
And not upon the purse at all;
That poor men's gifts, however small,
Make light some weary traveler's load
And smooth for him his troubled road.
He never knew or understood
The fellowship of doing good.
Because he had not much to spare
He thought it vain to give his share.

Yet many passed him, day by day,
He might have helped along the way.
He fancied kindness something which
Belongs entirely to the rich.
And so he lived and toiled for gold,
Unsympathetic, harsh and cold,
Intending all the time to share
The burdens that his brothers bear
When he possessed great wealth, and he
Could well afford a friend to be.

His fortune came, but, oh, too late;
The poor about him could not wait.
They never guessed and never knew
The things that he had meant to do.
Few knew how much he'd planned to give
If God had only let him live.
And when at last his form was cold,
All that he'd left on earth was gold.
A kindly name is something which
A man must earn before he's rich. 

Loser and Victor

Poem for the Day

Loser and Victor
by Edgar Albert Guest

He was beaten from the start,
Beaten by his doubting heart,
And he had a ready ear
For the busy tongue of fear,
And he had a timid mind
Unto fretfulness inclined,
Filled with many reasons why
It was vain for him to try.
Given a task he'd shake his head,
'Can't do that!' he often said,
'Times are hard and none will stay,
Listen to the words I say.
It is futile now to try,
People simply will not buy!'
Thus he walked the streets of trade,
Both discouraged and afraid.

But another kind of man
Thought this way: 'Perhaps I can!
If I will supply the pluck,
Fortune may provide the luck.
If I have the grit to try,
There are people who may buy;
Anyhow, I'll not submit
To defeat before I'm hit.'
One was beaten from the start,
Beaten by his doubting heart,
Beaten when he gave his ear
To the busy tongue of fear.
But another with his chance
Seized the moment to advance,
And came happy home at night
Just because he dared to fight. 

Lord, Make Me A Regular Man

Poem for the Day

Lord, Make Me A Regular Man
by Edgar Albert Guest

This I would like to be- braver and bolder, 
Just a bit wiser because I am older, 
Just a bit kinder to those I may meet, 
Just a bit manlier taking defeat; 
This for the New Year my wish and my plea- 
Lord, make a regular man out of me. 

This I would like to be- just a bit finer, 
More of a smiler and less of a whiner, 
Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand 
Helping another who's struggling to stand, 
This is my prayer for the New Year to be, 
Lord, make a regular man out of me. 

This I would like to be- just a bit fairer, 
Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer, 
Not quite so ready to censure and blame, 
Quicker to help every man in the game, 
Not quite so eager men's failings to see, 
Lord, make a regular man out of me. 

This I would like to be- just a bit truer, 
Less of the wisher and more of the doer, 
Broader and bigger, more willing to give, 
Living and helping my neighbor to live! 
This for the New Year my prayer and my plea- 
Lord, make a regular man out of me. 

Little Fellow

Poem for the Day

Little Fellow
by Edgar Albert Guest

OH, you laughing little fellow, with your eyes agleam with fun, 
And your golden curls a-mockin' all the splendor of the sun, 
With your cheeks a wee bit redder than the petals of the rose,
You don't know just what you mean to your daddy, I suppose.

With your rompin' and your shoutin' an' your laughin' through the day, 
You've no care of what's before you, what lies yonder down the way; 
Why, your little brain is whirlin' with the gladness of the earth, 
An' of course you have no notion of how much to me you're worth.

Jes' keep laughin', little fellow, keep those eyes agleam with fun, 
Jes' keep rompin' in the meadows an' a-dancin' in the sun, 
For the bloom of health upon you is the thing I want to see, 
Coz, you bright-eyed little fellow, you are all the world to me. 

Life's Tests

Poem for the Day

Life's Tests
by Edgar Albert Guest

If never a sorrow came to us, 
and never a care we knew; 
If every hope were realized, 
and every dream came true; 
If only joy were found on earth, 
and no one ever sighed, 
And never a friend proved false to us, 
and never a loved one died, 
And never a burden bore us down, 
soul-sick and weary, too, 
We'd yearn for tests to prove our worth 
and tasks for us to do. 

Life's Single Test

Poem for the Day

(The final exam will be the Messiah's at the time of the resurrection)

Life's Single Test
by Edgar Albert Guest

There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin;
There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win;
And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're
dressed,
You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single
test.

Some men lie by the things they make; some lie in the deeds they do;
And some play false for a woman's love, and some for a cheer or two;
Some rise to fame by the force of skill, grow great by the might of power,
Then wreck the temple they toiled to build, in a single, shameful hour.

The follies outnumber the virtues good; sin lures in a thousand ways;
But slow is the growth of man's character and patience must mark his days;
For only those victories shall count, when the work of life is done,
Which bear the stamp of an honest man, and by courage and faith were won.

There are a thousand ways to fail, but only one way to win!
Sham cannot cover the wrong you do nor wash out a single sin,
And never shall victory come to you, whatever of skill you do,
Save you've done your best in the work of life and unto your best were
true. 

Life's Canvas

Poem for the Day

Life's Canvas
by Edgar Albert Guest

Sunshine and shadow and laughter and tears,
These are forever the paints of the years,
Splashed on the canvas of life day by day,
We are the artists, the colors are they.
We are the painters, the pigments we use
Never we're wholly permitted to chose.
Grief with its gray tint and joy with its red
Come from life's tubes to be blended and spread.

Here at the easel, the brushes at hand,
Each for a time is permitted to stand.
White was the canvas when first we began,
Ready to picture the life of a man.
Now we ar splashing the pigments about,
Knowing the reds and blues must give out,
Soon we must turn to the dull hues and gray,
Painting the sorrows that darken the way.

Now with the sunshine and now with the shade
Slowly but surely the picture is made.
Even the gray tints with beauty may glow
Recalling the joy of the lost long ago.
Let me not daub it with doubt and despair,
Deeds that are hasty, unkind and unfair,
But when the last bit of pigment is dried
Let me look back at my canvas with pride.