Edgar Albert Guest Poems

My books and I are good old pals:
My laughing books are gay,
Just suited for my merry moods
When I am wont to play.
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If I had lived in Franklin's time I'm most afraid that I,
Beholding him out in the rain, a kite about to fly,
And noticing upon its tail the barn door's rusty key,
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I'm up against it day by day,
My ignorance is distressing;
The things I don't know on the way
I'm busily confessing.
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When Pa comes home, I'm at the door,
An' then he grabs me off the floor
An' throws me up an' catches me
When I come down, an' then, says he:
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Be grateful for the kindly friends that walk along your way;
Be grateful for the skies of blue that smile from day to day;
Be grateful for the health you own, the work you find to do,
For round about you there are men less fortunate than you.
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I am eager once more to feel easy,
I'm weary of thinking of dress;
I'm heartily sick of stiff collars,
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To happiness I raise my glass,
The goal of every human,
The hope of every clan and class
And every man and woman.
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When mother's sewing buttons on
Their little garments, one by one,
I settle down contented there
And watch her in her rocking chair.
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What do I want my boy to be?
Oft is the question asked of me,
And oft I ask it of myself-
What corner, niche or post or shelf
In the great hall of life would I
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This is the thing we fight:
A cry of terror in the night;
A ship on work of mercy bent—
A carrier of the sick and maimed—
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