I do not quarrel with the gas, Our modern range is fine, The ancient stove was doomed to pass From Time's grim firing line, Yet now and then there comes to me The thought of dinners good And pies and cake that used to be When mother cooked with wood. But the steeps that call for courage, And the task that's hard to do In the end result in glory For the never-wavering few. Poem myself by edgar guest blog. As they fairly stormed the place And made a rush for mother, who would stop to wipe her face Upon her gingham apron before she kissed them all, Hugging them proudly to her breast, the grownups and the small. They take their food from a common plate, And similar knives and forks they use, With similar laces they tie their shoes. But there's nothing goes to suit me, when my system's full of bile; Even horses quit their pullin' when the driver doesn't smile, But they'll buckle to the traces when they hear a glad giddap, Just as though they like to labor for a cheerful kind o' chap. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.
When mother sleeps, a slamming door Disturbs her not at all; A man might walk across the floor Or wander through the hall A pistol shot outside would not Drive slumber from her eyes— But she is always on the spot The moment baby cries. The roads that oft we used to tread In early days when first we mated, When hearts were light and cheeks were red, And days were not with burdens freighted. You think that the failures are many, You judge by men's profits in gold; You judge by the rule of the penny— In this true success isn't told. Were all things perfect here there would be naught for man to do; If what is old were good enough we'd never need the new. We understand a lot of things we never did before, And it seems that to each other Ma and I are meaning more. Could we only understand it As we shall some distant day We should see that He who planned it Knew our needs along the way. The World Is Against Me. I think it needless to explain She scolds a lot about the pup. Myself poem edgar albert guest. Who can cure every ache that we know, by his smile? Every girl made into one Is Ma. Would you take a fortune and never see The man, in a few brief years, he'll be? He's all by himself up there. And though you hired the queen of cooks to fashion your croquettes, Her meals would not compare with those your loving comrade gets; So, though the maid has quit again, and she is moved to sob, The old home's at its finest now, for Nellie's on the job. I can throttle the love of fine raiment to death And I don't know the craving for rum, But I do know the joy that is born of a toy, And the pleasure that comes with a drum I can reckon the value of money at times, And govern my purse strings with sense, But I fall for a toy for my girl or my boy And never regard the expense.
Show me the boy who never threw A stone at someone's cat; Or never hurled a snowball swift At someone's high silk hat. If he respects a woman's name And guards her from all thoughtless jeers; If he is glad to play life's game And not risk all to get the cheers; If he disdains to win by bluff And scorns to gain by shady tricks, I hold that he is good enough Regardless of his politics. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at. Tinctured with sorrow and flavored with sighs, Moistened with tears that have flowed from your eyes; Perfumed with sweetness of loves that have died, Leavened with failures, with grief sanctified, Sacred and sweet is the joy that must come From the furnace of life when you've poured off the scum. There was joy, but now it seems Dreams were not the rosy dreams, Sunbeams not such golden beams— Till the baby came. Ain't it fine when things are going Topsy-turvy and askew To discover someone showing Good old-fashioned faith in you? When I was little, then you said That children should be sent to bed And not allowed to rule the place And lead old folks a merry chase. Edgar guest poem i have to live with myself. " Seen 'em short and seen 'em tall, Seen 'em big and seen 'em small, But the finest one of all Is Ma. "Out here, " he told me, with a smile, "Away from all the city's sham, The strife for splendor and for style, The ticker and the telegram I come for just a little while To be exactly as I am. " Shall my bit of tapestry please?
Guest This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. Don't look on the job as the thing That shall prove what you're able to do; The job does no more than to bring A chance for promotion to you. But if I've swapped my bit of gold, For laughter and a happier pack Of youngsters in my little fold I'll never wish those dollars back. "It's dull and dreary toil, " said he, "And brings but small reward to me. Show the flag and let it fly, Cheering every passer-by. I find the man I envy most Is he who's longest at his post. To the youngsters in the city. You'll find him sitting quiet-like and sort of drawn apart, As though he felt he shouldn't be where folks are fine an' smart.
Who is it springs into bed with a leap And thinks it is queer that his dad wants to sleep? At last he limped away, and now He suffers in disgrace; His arms are bathed in liniment; Court plaster hides his face. When I was but a little lad I always liked to ride, No matter what the rig we had, right by the driver's side. You cannot live this life for gold Or selfish joys. I do not now recall that it was fun in those days when I woke to learn the water pipes were frozen tight "again. " My land's the land of honest toil, Of laughter, dance and song, Where harvests crown the fertile soil And thoughtful are the strong. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1. I let you do, most every night, The things your mother won't allow. Oh, I wonder how these mothers and these fathers up-to-date Would like the job of buying little shoes for seven or eight. To be a boy is finer joy, And so I've started growing down. With him I lived the old days That seem so far away; The beautiful and bold days When he was here to play; The sunny and the gold days Of that remembered May. You may stand to trouble and keep your grin, But have you tackled self-discipline?
Rough is the road I am journeying now, Heavy the burden I'm bearing to-day; But I'm humming a song, as I wander along, And I smile at the roses that nod by the way. Just what should now be done. When they roused me from my slumbers and I left to do the chores, It wasn't long before I breathed a fragrance out of doors That seemed to grip my spirit, and to thrill my body through, For the spice of hunger tingled, and 'twas then I plainly knew That the gnawing at my stomach would be quickly satisfied By a plate of country sausage that my dear old mother fried. We'll talk about the weather, The good times we have had together, The good times near, The roses buddin', an' the bees Once more upon their nectar sprees; The scarlet fever scare, an' who Came mighty near not pullin' through, An' who had light attacks, an' all The things that int'rest, big or small; But here you'll never hear of sinnin' Or any scandal that's beginnin'.
We've one rule here, An' that is to be pleasant. "Wait just a little while. "