When Day is Done.

by Edgar A. Guest.

When day is done and the night slips down, And I've turned my back on the busy town, And come once more to the welcome gate Where the roses nod and the children wait, I tell myself as I see them smile That life is good and its tasks worth while.

When day is done and I've come once more To my quiet street and the friendly door, Where the Mother reigns and the children play And the kettle sings in the old-time way, I throw my coat on a near-by chair And say farewell to my pack of care.

When day is done, all the hurt and strife And the selfishness and the greed of life, Are left behind in the busy town; I've ceased to worry about renown Or gold or fame, and I'm just a dad, Content to be with his girl and lad.

Whatever the day has brought of care, Here love and laughter are mine to share, Here I can claim what the rich desire-- Rest and peace by a ruddy fire, The welcome words which the loved ones speak And the soft caress of a baby's cheek.

When day is done and I reach my gate, I come to a realm where there is no hate, For here, whatever my worth may be, Are those who cling to their faith in me; And with love on guard at my humble door, I have all that the world has struggled for.

The Simple Things

I would not be too wise--so very wise That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds, And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes To humble people and their humble needs.

I would not care to climb so high that I Could never hear the children at their play, Could only see the people pa.s.sing by, And never hear the cheering words they say.

I would not know too much--too much to smile At trivial errors of the heart and hand, Nor be too proud to play the friend the while, Nor cease to help and know and understand.

I would not care to sit upon a throne, Or build my house upon a mountain-top, Where I must dwell in glory all alone And never friend come in or poor man stop.

G.o.d grant that I may live upon this earth And face the tasks which every morning brings And never lose the glory and the worth Of humble service and the simple things.

Life Is What We Make It

Life is a jest; Take the delight of it.

Laughter is best; Sing through the night of it.

Swiftly the tear And the hurt and the ache of it Find us down here; Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a song; Dance to the thrill of it.

Grief's hours are long, And cold is the chill of it.

Joy is man's need; Let us smile for the sake of it.

This be our creed: Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a soul; The virtue and vice of it, Strife for a goal, And man's strength is the price of it.

Your life and mine, The bare bread and the cake of it End in this line: Life must be what we make of it.

What We Need

We were settin' there an' smokin' of our pipes, discussin' things, Like licker, votes for wimmin, an' the totterin'thrones o' kings, When he ups an' strokes his whiskers with his hand an' says t'me: "Changin' laws an' legislatures ain't, as fur as I can see, Goin' to make this world much better, unless somehow we can Find a way to make a better an' a finer sort o' man.

"The trouble ain't with statutes or with systems--not at all; It's with humans jest like we air an' their petty ways an' small.

We could stop our writin' law-books an' our regulatin' rules If a better sort of manhood was the product of our schools.

For the things that we air needin' ain't no writin' from a pen Or bigger guns to shoot with, but a bigger typeof men.

"I reckon all these problems air jest ornery like the weeds.

They grow in soil that oughta nourish only decent deeds, An' they waste our time an' fret us when, if we were thinkin' straight An' livin' right, they wouldn't be so terrible an' great.

A good horse needs no snaffle, an' a good man, I opine, Doesn't need a law to check him or to force him into line.

"If we ever start in teachin' to our children, year by year, How to live with one another, there'll be less o' trouble here.

If we'd teach 'em how to neighbor an' to walk in honor's ways, We could settle every problem which the mind o' man can raise.

What we're needin' isn't systems or some regulatin' plan, But a bigger an' a finer an' a truer type o' man."

A Boy and His Dad

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- There is a glorious fellowship!

Father and son and the open sky And the white clouds lazily drifting by, And the laughing stream as it runs along With the clicking reel like a martial song, And the father teaching the youngster gay How to land a fish in the sportsman's way.

I fancy I hear them talking there In an open boat, and the speech is fair; And the boy is learning the ways of men From the finest man in his youthful ken.

Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare With the gentle father who's with him there.

And the greatest mind of the human race Not for one minute could take his place.

Which is happier, man or boy?

The soul of the father is steeped in joy, For he's finding out, to his heart's delight, That his son is fit for the future fight.

He is learning the glorious depths of him, And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim, And he shall discover, when night comes on, How close he has grown to his little son.

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip-- Oh, I envy them, as I see them there Under the sky in the open air, For out of the old, old long-ago Come the summer days that I used to know, When I learned life's truths from my father's lips As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips-- Builders of life's companionship!

If I Had Youth

If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me; I'd answer every challenge to my will.

And though the silent mountains should defy me, I'd try to make them subject to my skill.

I'd keep my dreams and follow where they led me; I'd glory in the hazards which abound.

I'd eat the simple fare privations fed me, And gladly make my couch upon the ground.

If I had youth I'd ask no odds of distance, Nor wish to tread the known and level ways.