Edgar Albert Guest Home Poems

The Path That Leads To Home

The little path that leads to home,
That is the road for me,
I know no finer path to roam,

Making The House A Home

Here's our story, page by page,
Happy youth and middle-age,
Smile and tear-drop, weal and woe
Such as all who live must know-


The road to laughter beckons me,
The road to all that's best;
The home road where I nightly see

On Going Home For Christmas

He little knew the sorrow that was in his vacant chair;
He never guessed they'd miss him, or he'd surely have been there;
He couldn't see his mother or the lump that filled her throat,

Selling The Old Home

The little house has grown too small, or rather we have grown
Too big to dwell within the walls where all our joys were known.
And so, obedient to the wish of her we love so well,
I have agreed for sordid gold the little home to sell.

Home And The Baby

Home was never home before,
Till the baby came.
Love no golden jewels wore,
Till the baby came.

Back Home

GLAD to be back home again,
Where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes

The Path To Home

THERE'S the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,
And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.
There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,

When Pa Comes Home

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:

The Home-Town

Some folks leave home for money
And some leave home for fame,
Some seek skies always sunny,
And some depart in shame.

Home And The Office

Home is the place where the laughter should ring,
And man should be found at his best.
Let the cares of the day be as great as they may,
The night has been fashioned for rest.

Prayer For The Home

Peace, unto this house, I pray,
Keep terror and despair away;
Shield it from evil and let sin
Never find lodging room within.

The Little Home

The little house is not too small
To shelter friends who come to call.
Though low the roof and small its space

What Home's Intended For

When the young folks gather 'round in the good old-fashioned way,
Singin' all the latest songs gathered from the newest play,
Or they start the phonograph an' shove the chairs back to the wall
An' hold a little party dance, I'm happiest of all.
Then I sorter settle back, plumb contented to the core,
An' I tell myself most proudly, that's what home's intended for.

The Home-Wrecker

MISCHIEVOUS and full of fun,
Eyes that sparkle like the sun;
Mouth that's always in a smile,
Hands in trouble all the while.
Tugging this and tugging that,

Safe At Home

Let the old fire blaze
An' the youngsters shout
An' the dog on the rug
Sprawl full length out,
An' Mother an' I

To The Men At Home

No war is won by cannon fire alone;
The soldier bears the grim and dreary role;
He dies to serve the Flag that he has known;
His duty is to gain the distant goal.

Tinkerin' At Home

Some folks there be who seem to need excitement fast and furious,
An' reckon all the joys that have no thrill in 'em are spurious.
Some think that pleasure's only found down where the lights are shining,
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks are dining.

We Who Stay At Home

When you were just our little boy, on many a night we crept
Unto your cot and watched o'er you, and all the time you slept.
We tucked the covers round your form and smoothed your pillow, too,
And sometimes stooped and kissed your cheeks, but that you never knew.

Rather Stay Home

NEVER so happy as when I 'm at home,
I 'm not so anxious to wander or roam;
Rather sit down with the folks who love me,

The Joys Of Home

Curling smoke from a chimney low,
And only a few more steps to go,
Faces pressed at a window pane
Watching for someone to come again,

Wait Till Your Pa Comes Home

'Wait till your Pa comes home!' Oh, dear!
What a dreadful threat for a boy to hear.
Yet never a boy of three or four

The Toy-Strewn Home

Give me the house where the toys are strewn,
Where the dolls are asleep in the chairs,
Where the building blocks and the toy balloon
And the soldiers guard the stairs.

The Home Builders

The world is filled with bustle and with selfishness and greed,
It is filled with restless people that are dreaming of a deed.
You can read it in their faces; they are dreaming of the day
When they'll come to fame and fortune and put all their cares away.

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