Edgar Albert Guest Poems

MARK TWAIN is dead! No, no, that cannot be,
Say rather Clemens knows life's mystery,
Say rather Clemens has been called above,
But Twain still lives for all the world to love.
...

Oh, my shoulders grow aweary of the burdens I am bearin',
An' I grumble when I'm footsore at the rough road I am farin',
But I strap my knapsack tighter till I feel the leather bind me,
An' I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones who come behind me.
...

OUT of the darkness and shadow of death,
Out of the anguish that wells from the tomb,
Into the splendor of spiritual breath,
Now we have burst like a lily in bloom;
...

A PAT on the back is a wonderful thing,
It gives a man courage to whistle and sing;
When hope is departing, the outlook is grim,
A pat on the back then says volumes to him.
...

A woman is queer, there's no doubt about that.
She hates to be thin and she hates to be fat;
One minute it's laughter, the next it's a cry-
You can't understand her, however you try;
...

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.
...

When Ma gets out the monthly bills and sets them all in front of Dad,
She makes us children run away because she knows he may get mad;
An' then she smiles a bit and says: 'I hope you will not fuss and fret-
There's nothing here except the things I absolutely had to get!'
...

I'LL never be rich.
I'm too fond of the joy
Of a certain small girl
And a certain small boy;
...

When I was but a little lad, not more than two or three,
I noticed in a general way my dad was proud of me.
He liked the little ways I had, the simple things I said;
Sometimes he gave me words of praise, sometimes he stroked my head;
And when I'd done a thing worth while, the thought that made me glad
Was always that I'd done my best, and that would please my dad.
...

When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,
He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.
He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;
He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.
...