Edgar A. Guest

“ They spend no strength in growing old. What if their brows be crowned with gray?
The spirits in their breasts are young. They still possess the gift of play.
The richest men of life are not the ones who rise to wealth and fame—
Not the great sages, old and wise, and grave of face and bent of frame,
But the glad spirits, tall and straight, who 'spite of time and all its care,
Have kept the power to laugh and sing and in youth's fellowship to share.
They that can walk with boys and be a boy among them, blithe and gay,
Defy the withering blasts of Age because they have the gift of play. ”

“ How much grit do you think you've got? Can you turn from joys that you like a lot? Have you ever tested yourself to know How far with yourself your will can go? If you want to know if you have grit, Just pick out a joy that you like, and quit. It's bully sport and it's open fight; It will keep you busy both day and night; For the toughest kind of a game you'll find Is to make your body obey your mind. And you never will know what is meant by grit Unless there's something you've tried to quit.
The Price of Riches Nobody stops at the rich man's door to pass the time of day. ”

“ That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.
I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold,
To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old.
I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame,
And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim.
I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam,
And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home.
Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all! ”

“ And all that night he'll live again the joys that once he had
When he was good St. Nicholas unto a certain lad.
And he will wonder if his boy, by any sad mischance,
Will find his stocking empty just because he serves in France.
Show the Flag
Show the flag and let it wave
As a symbol of the brave;
Let it float upon the breeze
As a sign for each who sees
That beneath it, where it rides,
Loyalty to-day abides.
Show the flag and signify
That it wasn't born to die;
Let its colors speak for you
That you still are standing true,
True in sight of God and man
To the work that flag began. ”

“ You will hear your baby saying,
"Mamma, come to me, I'm staying
With my arms outstretched to greet you,"
And you'll understand it all.
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To the Boy
I have no wish, my little lad,
To climb the towering heights of fame.
I am content to be your dad
And share with you each pleasant game.
I am content to hold your hand
And walk along life's path with you,
And talk of things we understand—
The birds and trees and skies of blue.
Though some may seek the smiles of kings,
For me your laughter's joy enough;
I have no wish to claim the things
Which lure men into pathways rough. ”

“ Who jumps in the air and then lands with a thud On his poor daddy's stomach? I'll tell you, it's Bud! Who is it thinks life is but laughter and play And doesn't know care is a part of the day? Who is reckless of stockings and heedless of shoes? Who laughs at a tumble and grins at a bruise? Who climbs over fences and clambers up trees, And scrapes all the skin off his shins and his knees? Who sometimes comes home all bespattered with blood That was drawn by a fall? It's that rascal called Bud. Yet, who is it makes all our toiling worth while? Who can cure every ache that we know, by his smile? ”

“ To the dawn of the glad to-morrow which is promised in every creed.
What Is Success?
Success is being friendly when another needs a friend;
It's in the cheery words you speak, and in the coins you lend;
Success is not alone in skill and deeds of daring great;
It's in the roses that you plant beside your garden gate.
Success is in the way you walk the paths of life each day;
It's in the little things you do and in the things you say;
Success is in the glad hello you give your fellow man;
It's in the laughter of your home and all the joys you plan. ”

“ Both fame and gold are selfish things; their charms may quickly flee,
But I'm the father of a boy who came to speak for me.
In him lies all I hope to be; his splendor shall be mine;
I shall have done man's greatest work if only he is fine.
If some day he shall help the world long after I am dead,
In all that men shall say of him my praises shall be said.
It matters not what I may win of fleeting gold or fame,
My hope of joy depends alone on what my boy shall claim.
My story must be told through him, for him I work and plan,
Man's greatest duty is to be the father of a man. ”

“ Let no such dangerous person lead us,
To-day in France they sadly need us.
A Christmas Greeting
Here's to you, little mother,
With your boy so far away;
May the joy of service smother
All your grief this Christmas day;
May the magic of his splendor
Thrill your spirit through and through
And may all that's fine and tender
Make a smiling day for you.
May you never know the sadness
That from day to day you dread;
May you never find but gladness
In the Flag that's overhead;
May the good God watch above him
As he stands to duty stern,
And at last to all who love him
May he have a safe return. ”

“ It is rest they're vainly seeking, love and laughter in the gloam, But they'll never come to claim it, save they claim it here at home. For the peace that is the sweetest isn't born of minted gold, And the joy that lasts the longest and still lingers when we're old Is no dim and distant pleasure—it is not to-morrow's prize, It is not the end of toiling, or the rainbow of our sighs. It' is every day within us—all the rest is hippodrome— And the soul that is the gladdest is the soul that builds a home. They are fools who build for glory! ”

“ Little mother, keep the faith: not to death he goes;
Share with him the joy of worth that your soldier knows.
He is giving to the Flag all that man can give,
And if you believe he will, surely he will live.
Little mother, through the night of his absence long,
Never cease to think of him—brave and well and strong;
You shall know his kiss again, you shall see his smile,
For your boy shall come to you in a little while.
Thoughts of a Soldier
Since men with life must purchase life
And some must die that more may live,
Unto the Great Cashier of strife
A fine accounting let me give. ”

“ The Job The job will not make you, my boy; The job will not bring you to fame Or riches or honor or joy Or add any weight to your name. You may fail or succeed where you are, May honestly serve or may rob; From the start to the end Your success will depend On just what you make of your job. Don't look on the job as the thing That shall prove what you're able to do; The job does no more than to bring A chance for promotion to you. Men have shirked in high places and won Very justly the jeers of the mob; And you'll find it is true That it's all up to you To say what shall come from the job. ”

“ This year his kindly Santa Claus must guard a trench in France.
His mother bravely tries to smile; last Christmas Eve was gay;
Last Christmas morn his daddy rose at dawn with him to play;
This year he'll hang his stocking by the chimney, but the hands
That filled it with the joys he craved now serve in foreign lands.
He is too young to understand his mother's troubled glance,
But he that was his Santa Claus is in a trench in France.
Somewhere in France this Christmas Eve a soldier brave will be,
And all that night in fancy he will trim a Christmas tree ”

“ The only happy time of rest is that which follows strife And sees some contribution made unto the joy of life. And he who has oppression felt and conquered it is he Who really knows the happiness and peace of being free. The miseries of earth are here and with them all must cope. Who seeks for joy, through hedges thick of care and pain must grope. Through disappointment man must go to value pleasure's thrill; To really know the joy of health a man must first be ill. The wrongs are here for man to right, and happiness is had By striving to supplant with good the evil and the bad. ”

“ Is the mother of Old Glory that is waving in the sky.
Men have fought to keep it splendid, men have died to keep it bright,
But that flag was born of woman and her sufferings day and night;
'Tis her sacrifice has made it, and once more we ought to pray
For the brave and loyal mother of the boy that goes away.
There are days of grief before her, there are hours that she will weep,
There are nights of anxious waiting when her fear will banish sleep;
She has heard her country calling and has risen to the test,
And has placed upon the altar of the nation's need, her best. ”