What Goes Around…

Like Calls to Like

by Edgar Guest

If you walk as a friend you will find a friend
wherever you choose to fare,
if you go with mirth to a far, strange land
you will find that mirth is there.
For the strangest part of this queer old world
is that like will join with like,
and who walks with love for his fellow men
an answering love will strike.

Here each of us builds his little world,
and chooses its people, too;
though millions trample the face of earth,
each life touches but the few.
And the joy you’ll find as you venture forth
your fortune or fame to make,
lies not in some stranger’s power to say,
for it’s all in the joy you take.

If you walk in honor then honest men
will meet you along the way,
but if you be false you will find men false,
wherever you chance to stray.
For good breeds good and the bad breeds bad;
we are met by the traits we show.
Love will find a friend at the stranger’s door
where hate would find a foe.

For each of us builds the world he knows,
which only himself can spoil,
and an hour of hate or an hour of shame
can ruin a life of toil.
And though to the farthermost ends of earth
your duty may bid you fare
if you walk with truth in your heart as a friend,
you will find friends waiting there.

From The Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest
© 1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co

Gettin’ Old

by Edgar Guest

Gettin old’s not hard, I say,
if it’s done the proper way;
when you’re finding’ out how much
joy is in the common touch,
learnin’ from experience
and the book of common sense
that a man, whoe’er he be,
richly dressed or poor to see,
really’s tryin’ hard to do
just about the same as you;
when you’ve found the worth of gold,
then you’re glad you’re gettin’ old.

When you’ve come along the years
with their smiles and bitter tears,
and have seen through clearer eyes
many things you used to prize
lose their value, and you know
much you didn’t long ago;
when you’ve learned that creed and birth
are not real stamps of worth,
and you’ve scraped through the veneer
of the sham and pomp down here
to tell the truth you want to hold,
then you’re glad you’re gettin’ old.

When you’ve come at last to find
joy is born of bein’ kind;
when you’re learned to disbelieve
tales which make another grieve
and to them you shut your ear;
when you are not quick to sneer
and have turned from selfish strife
to the gentler ways of life,
in your wisdom finding out
things you never dreamed about
in your youthful way days and bold —
then you’re glad you’re getting old.

Gettin’ old’s not hard, I say,
if it’s done the proper way,
youth is made with haste and blind
to the peace which old men find,
but when you have traveled far,
come to know men as they are,
when you’ve learned through hurts and aches
all the errors hot youth makes
and have found the lasting worth
of the simpler joys of earth;
when life’s purposes unfold,
then you’re glad you’re gettin’ old.

The Dull Road

by Edgar Guest

It’s the dull road that leads to the gay road;
the practise that leads to success;
the work road that leads to the play road;
it is trouble that breeds happiness.

It’s the hard work and merciless grinding
that purchases glory and fame;
it’s repeatedly doing, nor minding
the drudgery drear of the game.

It’s the passing up glamor or pleasure
for the sake of the skill we may gain,
and the giving up comfort or leisure
for the joys that we hope to attain.

It’s the hard road of trying and learning,
of toiling, uncheered and alone,
that wins us the prizes worth earning,
and leads us to goals we would own.

A Prayer

Ah, the lovely summer time! My flower pots are in full bloom. The young birds are leaving their nests and flitting around in the woods, which are incredibly lush and green. After several months of complaining we seriously lacked rain, now I have to report that it’s been raining almost every day for the past five weeks. We got another .7 of an inch Sunday evening in a wild storm, then another soaker yesterday left us with .6. Toadstools abound. 🙂

Life has returned to normal here, as my dear hubby came home last night after spending five days in Quebec. He’s on the French-literature proof-reading committee along with three other men from the Roxton Falls area and they find it’s good once a year to get together and devote several days to editing their latest project. I managed okay by myself, but am very happy to have him home again.

I found this poem in my files and hope it inspires you.

A Prayer

by Edgar Guest

Lord, let me do my little part
with courage and a willing heart.
Open my eyes that I may see,
however dark the day may be,
however rough the road I fare,
the purpose of the cross I bear.

Lord, let me wake when morning breaks
undaunted by my old mistakes.
Let me arise as comes the sun
glad for the task that must be done,
rejoicing I have strength to give
some beauty to the life I live.

Lord, let me hear the kindlier things,
the morning song the robin sings,
the laughter of the children near,
their merry whisperings in my ear,
my neighbor’s greeting at the gate,
let these shut out the speech of hate.

From his book The Light of Faith
© 1926 by The Reilly & Lee Co.

Failures

Wise words from Edgar A Guest

‘Tis better to have tried in vain
sincerely striving for a goal,
than to have lived upon the plain
an idle and a timid soul.

‘Tis better to have fought and spent
your courage, missing all applause,
than to have lived in smug content
and never ventured for a cause.

For he who tries and fails may be
the founder of a better day;
though never his the victory,
from him shall others learn the way.

From his book A Heap O’ Livin

The Birch Tree

Tonight my contribution to National Poetry Month will be a verse by one of my favourite poets, Edgar Albert Guest. According to Wiki he was often referred to as “the People’s Poet” and penned some 11,000 verses in his time, most of them upbeat and inspirational.

He wrote lines the common people could understand; his subjects were about home & family,  everyday life, and old-fashioned virtues. He often encouraged readers to be thankful, quit grumbling, and do their best whatever the circumstances —as the following poem illustrates. If Mr Guest sounds overly moralistic at times, we must remember that he lived from 1881-1959, saw the country go through two World Wars as well as the Stock Market crash and the Great Depression. Not an era to wimp out.

The Birch Tree

Out of a jutting rock, wind blown,
a birch tree braves the world alone.
A crevice in the granite first
captured the seed; a wave immersed
that tiny embryo. The sun
warmed it — and thus was life begun.

Scant food the passing breezes give
and yet that tree contrives to live!
Cruel the clutch of granite gray,
yet the brave roots from day to day
into the great stone deeper creep,
a surer hold on life to keep.

Twisted and bent some limbs appear,
but still undaunted year by year
those roots in cheerless channels sunk
courageously support the trunk
and green against the lake and sky,
a birch tree catches every eye!

Man thinks he knows what nature wills.
But much he plants the winter kills,
while far away from human care
and on a cliff by storms swept bare,
denied the commonest of needs,
a birch tree silently succeeds!

From his book, Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest,
©1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co