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Guest, Edgar A. (Edgar Albert), 1881-1959

"Over Here"


Now to God and country give
Every minute that you live.

The Future

"The worst is yet to come:"
So wail the doubters glum,
But here's the better view:
"My best I've yet to do."
The worst some always fear;
To-morrow holds no cheer,
Yet farther on life's lane
Are joys you shall attain.
Go forward bravely, then,
And play your part as men,
For this is ever true:
"Our best we've yet to do."

A Father's Prayer

I sometimes wonder when I read the sorrow in his face
If I shall wear that look of care when time has marched apace?
My little boy is five years old and his is twenty-one;
My little boy is home with me; his boy to war has gone.
And I can laugh and dance with life, and I can gayly jest,
But heavy is the heart to-day that beats within his breast.
Time was, his boy was five years old; time was he smiled as I;
I wonder what awaits for me when youth has journeyed by?
Last night I sat at home and watched my little boy at play,
And all the time I thought of him whose boy has gone away.
And in the joy that I possessed I prayed in silence then
That God would quickly bring him back his little boy again.

The Glory of Age

"What is the glory of age?" I said,
"A hoard of gold and a few dear friends?
When you've reached the day that you look ahead
And see the place where your journey ends,
When Time has robbed you of youthful might--
What is the secret of your delight?"
And an old man smiled as he answered me:
"The glory of age isn't gold or friends,
When we've reached the valley of Soon-To-Be
And note the place where our journey ends;
The glory of age, be it understood,
Is a boy out there who is making good.


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