Edgar Albert Guest Poems

We have room for the man with an honest dream,
With his heart on fire and his eyes agleam;
We have room for the man with a purpose true,
...

GLAD to be back home again,
Where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes
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Over the hills of time to the valley of endless years;
Over the roads of woe to the land that is free from tears
Up from the haunts of men to the place where the angels are,
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Home was never home before,
Till the baby came.
Love no golden jewels wore,
Till the baby came.
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Send her a valentine to say
You love her in the same old way.
Just drop the long familiar ways
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We need a few more optimists,
The kind that double up their fists
And set their jaws, determined-like,
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Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place
In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face.
I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang,
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She said she was sorry the weather was bad
The night that she asked us to dine;
And she really appeared inexpressibly sad
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He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and he
Looked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see.
He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind,
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My father often used to say:
'My boy don't throw a thing away:
You'll find a use for it some day.'
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