When Day is Done – Edgar Guest Poems

• A BEAR STORY
• A FRIEND’S GREETING
• A LITTLE BRASS TAG
• A MAN
• A PRAYER
• A REAL MAN
• A TOAST TO HAPPINESS
• A WISH
• AN EASY WORLD
• ANSWERING HIM
• AS FALL THE LEAVES
• AT BREAKFAST TIME
• AT SUGAR CAMP
• AT THE DOOR
• AUTUMN AT THE ORCHARD
• AVOW
• BE A FRIEND
• CAN’T
• CANNING TIME
• CARE-FREE YOUTH
• CHALLENGE
• COURAGE
• DEFEAT
• DIVISION
• DUTY
• ETERNAL FRIENDSHIP
• EXPECTATION
• FAILURES
• FATHER
• FATHER AND SON
• FOLKS
• GRATITUDE
• GREATNESS
• HARD KNOCKS
• HARD WORK
• HOUSE-HUNTING
• HOW DO YOU TACKLE YOUR WORK?
• I
• IT ISN’T COSTLY
• IT’S SEPTEMBER
• JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
• KNOW
• LIFE’S TESTS
• LITTLE MASTER MISCHIEVOUS
• MA AND HER CHECK BOOK
• MA AND THE AUTO
• MOTHER’S DAY
• MOTHER’S GLASSES
• MY CREED
• MY PAW SAID SO
• NO PLACH TO GO
• OLD FRIENDS
• ONLY A DAD
• OPPORTUNITY
• OUR DUTY TO OUR FLAG
• OUT-OF-DOORS
• PEACE
• PEOPLE LIKED HIM
• PREPAREDNESS
• PROMOTION
• PURPOSE
• RAISIN PIE
• RESULTS AND ROSES
• REVENGE
• RICH
• ROSES
• SELFISH
• SPRING IN THE TRENCHES
• STORY TELLING
• STUCK
• SUCCESS AND FAILURE
• THE APPLE TREE
• THE BOY THAT WAS
• THE BUMPS AND BRUISES DOCTOR
• THE DULL ROAD
• THE EPICURE
• THE FINER THOUGHT
• THE FINEST AGE
• THE FISHING CURE
• THE GENTLE GARDENER
• THE HAPPIEST DAYS
• THE HAPPY SLOW THINKER
• THE HUNTER
• THE JOY OF A DOG
• THE JUNE COUPLE
• THE JUNK BOX
• THE LIVING BEAUTIES
• THE MAN WHO COULDN’T SAVE
• THE NEIGHBORLY MAN
• THE OBLIGATION OF FRIENDSHIP
• THE OTHER FELLOW
• THE PATH THAT LEADS TO HOME
• THE PEACEFUL WARRIORS
• THE PRICE OF JOY
• THE PRINCESS PAT’S
• THE READY ARTISTS
• THE REAL BAIT
• THE ROUGH LITTLE RASCAL
• THE SORROW TUGS
• THE STATES
• THE SULKERS
• THE THINGS THAT HAVEN’T BEEN DONE BEFORE
• THE THINGS THAT MAKE A SOLDIER GREAT
• TO THE LADY IN THE ELECTRIC
• TO-MORROW
• TREASURES
• TRUE NOBILITY
• UNDER THE SKIN OF MEN
• UNDERSTANDING
• WHEN FATHER SHOOK THE STOVE
• WHEN PA COMES HOME
• WHEN PA COUNTS
• When you get to know a fellow

Trouble Brings Friends

It’s seldom trouble comes alone. I’ve noticed this: When things go wrong
An’ trouble comes a-visitin’, it always brings a friend along;
Sometimes it’s one you’ve known before, and then perhaps it’s someone new
Who stretches out a helping hand an’ stops to see what he can do.

If never trials came to us, if grief an’ sorrow passed us by,
If every day the sun came out an’ clouds were never in the sky,
We’d still have neighbors, I suppose, each one pursuin’ selfish ends,
But only neighbors they would be–we’d never know them as our friends.

Out of the troubles I have had have come my richest friendships here,
Kind hands have helped to bear my care, kind words have fallen on my ear;
An’ so I say when trouble comes I know before the storm shall end
That I shall find my bit of care has also brought to me a friend.

Cleaning the Furnace

Last night Pa said to Ma: “My dear, it’s gettin’ on to fall,
It’s time I did a little job I do not like at all.
I wisht ‘at I was rich enough to hire a man to do
The dirty work around this house an’ clean up when he’s through,
But since I’m not, I’m truly glad that I am strong an’ stout,
An’ ain’t ashamed to go myself an’ clean the furnace out.”

Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an’ said
He’d work down in the cellar till ’twas time to go to bed.
He started in to rattle an’ to bang an’ poke an’ stir,
An’ the dust began a-climbin’ up through every register
Till Ma said: “Goodness gracious; go an’ shut those things up tight
Or we’ll all be suffocated an’ the house will be a sight.”

Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an’ a pail,
An’ from cellar door to alley he just left an ashy trail.
Then he pulled apart the chimney, an’ ’twas full of something black,
An’ he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back.
We could hear him talkin’ awful, an’ Ma looked at us an’ said:
“I think it would be better if you children went to bed.”

When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair,
There were ashes in his eyebrows–but he didn’t seem to care–
There were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes,
An’ we never would have known him if he’d took us by surprise.
“Well, I got it clean,” he sputtered, and Ma said:  “I guess that’s true;
Once the dirt was in the furnace, but now most of it’s on you.”

 

The True Man

This is the sort of a man was he:
True when it hurt him a lot to be;
Tight in a corner an’ knowin’ a lie
Would have helped him out, but he wouldn’t buy
His freedom there in so cheap a way–
He told the truth though he had to pay.

Honest! Not in the easy sense,
When he needn’t worry about expense–
We’ll all play square when it doesn’t count
And the sum at stake’s not a large amount–
But he was square when the times were bad,
An’ keepin’ his word took all he had.

Honor is something we all profess,
But most of us cheat–some more, some less–
An’ the real test isn’t the way we do
When there isn’t a pinch in either shoe;
It’s whether we’re true to our best or not
When the right thing’s certain to hurt a lot.

That is the sort of a man was he:
Straight when it hurt him a lot to be;
Times when a lie would have paid him well,
No matter the cost, the truth he’d tell;
An’ he’d rather go down to a drab defeat
Than save himself if he had to cheat.

Learn to Smile

The good Lord understood us when He taught us how to smile;
He knew we couldn’t stand it to be solemn all the while;
He knew He’d have to shape us so that when our hearts were gay,
We could let our neighbors know it in a quick and easy way.

So He touched the lips of Adam and He touched the lips of Eve,
And He said: “Let these be solemn when your sorrows make you grieve,
But when all is well in Eden and your life seems worth the while,
Let your faces wear the glory and the sunshine of a smile.

“Teach the symbol to your children, pass it down through all the years.
Though they know their share of sadness and shall weep their share of
    tears,
Through the ages men and women shall prove their faith in Me
By the smile upon their faces when their hearts are trouble-free.”

The good Lord understood us when He sent us down to earth,
He knew our need for laughter and for happy signs of mirth;
He knew we couldn’t stand it to be solemn all the while,
But must share our joy with others–so He taught us how to smile.

Life’s Single Standard

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.

“Carry On”

They spoke it bravely, grimly, in their darkest hours of doubt;
They spoke it when their hope was low and when their strength gave out;
We heard it from the dying in those troubled days now gone,
And they breathed it as their slogan for the living: “Carry on!”

Now the days of strife are over, and the skies are fair again,
But those two brave words of courage on our lips should still remain;
In the trials which beset us and the cares we look upon,
To our dead we should be faithful–we have still to “carry on!”

“Carry on!” through storm and danger, “carry on” through dark despair,
“Carry on” through hurt and failure, “carry on” through grief and care;
‘Twas the slogan they bequeathed us as they fell beside the way,
And for them and for our children, let us “carry on!” to-day.

A Vanished Joy

When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight,
One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date,
Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make,
The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake;
And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy’s fondest wish,
The glorious privilege of youth–to scrape the frosting dish!

On Saturdays I never left to wander far away–
I hovered near the kitchen door on Mother’s baking day;
The fragrant smell of cooking seemed to hold me in its grip,
And naught cared I for other sports while there were sweets to sip;
I little cared that all my chums had sought the brook to fish;
I chose to wait that moment glad when I could scrape the dish.

Full many a slice of apple I have lifted from a pie
Before the upper crust went on, escaping Mother’s eye;
Full many a time my fingers small in artfulness have strayed
Into some sweet temptation rare which Mother’s hands had made;
But eager-eyed and watery-mouthed, I craved the greater boon,
When Mother let me clean the dish and lick the frosting spoon.

The baking days of old are gone, our children cannot know
The glorious joys that childhood owned and loved so long ago.
New customs change the lives of all and in their heartless way
They’ve robbed us of the glad event once known as baking day.
The stores provide our every need, yet many a time I wish
Our kids could know that bygone thrill and scrape the frosting dish.

The Spoiler

With a twinkle in his eye
He’d come gayly walkin’ by
An’ he’d whistle to the children
  An’ he’d beckon ‘em to come,
Then he’d chuckle low an’ say,
“Come along, I’m on my way,
An’ it’s I that need your company
  To buy a little gum.”

When his merry call they’d hear,
All the children, far an’ near,
Would come flyin’ from the gardens
  Like the chickens after wheat;
When we’d shake our heads an’ say:
“No, you mustn’t go to-day!”
He’d beg to let him have ‘em
  In a pack about his feet.

Oh, he spoiled ‘em, one an’ all;
There was not a youngster small
But was over-fed on candy
  An’ was stuffed with lollypops,
An’ I think his greatest joy
Was to get some girl or boy
An’ bring ‘em to their parents
  All besmeared by chocolate drops.

Now the children’s hearts are sore
For he comes to them no more,
And no more to them he whistles
  And no more for them he stops;
But in Paradise, I think,
With his chuckle and his wink,
He is leading little angels
  To the heavenly candy shops.

When We Understand the Plan

I reckon when the world we leave
And cease to smile and cease to grieve,
When each of us shall quit the strife
And drop the working tools of life,
Somewhere, somehow, we’ll come to find
Just what our Maker had in mind.

Perhaps through clearer eyes than these
We’ll read life’s hidden mysteries,
And learn the reason for our tears–
Why sometimes came unhappy years,
And why our dearest joys were brief
And bound so closely unto grief.

There is so much beyond our scope,
As blindly on through life we grope,
So much we cannot understand,
However wisely we have planned,
That all who walk this earth about
Are constantly beset by doubt.

No one of us can truly say
Why loved ones must be called away,
Why hearts are hurt, or e’en explain
Why some must suffer years of pain;
Yet some day all of us shall know
The reason why these things are so.

I reckon in the years to come,
When these poor lips of clay are dumb,
And these poor hands have ceased to toil,
Somewhere upon a fairer soil
God shall to all of us make clear
The purpose of our trials here.

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