Edgar Albert Guest Poems

We've never seen the Father here, but we have known the Son,
The finest type of manhood since the world was first begun.
And, summing up the works of God, I write with reverent pen,
The greatest is the Son He sent to cheer the lives of men.
...

IT isn't the blue in the skies,
Nor the song of the whispering trees,
The light in a fair maiden's eyes,
My joy is far greater than these;
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'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,'
Cried Romeo once, and truth he spoke I own;
And we should smell the autos down the street
Though gasoline were labeled French cologne.
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DO you know why men dig ditches
And why others till the soil?
Do you know why men seek riches,
And each morn go out to toil?
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Wife says that I should be ashamed
To wear such garments as I do,
Full many a time has she exclaimed:
'A month ago that suit was new,
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Little woman, hourly sitting,
Something for a soldier knitting,
What in fancy can you see?
Many pictures come to me
Through the stitch that now you're making:
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CAESAR did a few things,
Horace wrote in style,
Good old Plato knew things
Very much worth while.
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Where is the road to Arcady,
Where is the path that leads to peace,
Where shall I find the bliss to be,
Where shall the weary wanderings cease?
These are the questions that come to me,
Where is the road to Arcady?
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I SING the family party that once we used to know,
The old time family parties we gave so long ago,
When every near-relation and distant cousins, too,
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JIM had a quaint philosophy,
'It ain't fer you, it's jes' fer me,'
He used to say. 'I don't p'tend
T' force it onto foe or friend;
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