The Path to Home | Page 8

Edgar A. Guest
eyes were dull with woe.
Who has done this thing I wondered; what has wrought the ruin here? Why these sunken cheeks and pallid where the roses once were pink? Why has beauty fled her palace; did some vandal hand appear? Did her lover prove unfaithful or her husband take to drink?
Once the golden voice of promise whispered sweetly in her ears; She was born to be a garden where the smiles of love might lurk; Now the eyes that shone like jewels are but gateways for her tears, And she takes her place among us, toilers early bound for work.
Is it fate that writes so sadly, or the cruelty of man??What foul deed has marred the parchment of a life so fair as this? Who has wrecked this lovely temple and destroyed the Maker's plan, Raining blows on cheeks of beauty God had fashioned just to kiss?
Oh, the pale and weary faces of the people that I see?Are the ones that seem to haunt me, and I pray to God above That such cruel desolation shall not ever come to be?Stamped forever in the future on the faces that I love.
The Lost Purse
I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm?That worried everybody when William broke his arm;?An' how frantic Pa and Ma got only jes' the other day?When they couldn't find the baby coz he'd up an' walked away; But I'm sure there's no excitement that our house has ever shook Like the times Ma can't remember where she's put her pocketbook.
When the laundry man is standin' at the door an' wants his pay Ma hurries in to get it, an' the fun starts right away.?She hustles to the sideboard, coz she knows exactly where?She can put her hand right on it, but alas! it isn't there. She tries the parlor table an' she goes upstairs to look,?An' once more she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.
She tells us that she had it just a half an hour ago,?An' now she cannot find it though she's hunted high and low; She's searched the kitchen cupboard an' the bureau drawers upstairs, An' it's not behind the sofa nor beneath the parlor chairs. She makes us kids get busy searching every little nook,?An' this time says she's certain that she's lost her pocketbook.
She calls Pa at the office an' he laughs I guess, for then?She always mumbles something 'bout the heartlessness of men. She calls to mind a peddler who came to the kitchen door,?An' she's certain from his whiskers an' the shabby clothes he wore An' his dirty shirt an' collar that he must have been a crook, An' she's positive that feller came and got her pocketbook.
But at last she allus finds it in some queer an' funny spot, Where she'd put it in a hurry, an' had somehow clean forgot; An' she heaves a sigh of gladness, an' she says, "Well, I declare, I would take an oath this minute that I never put it there." An' we're peaceable an' quiet till next time Ma goes to look An' finds she can't remember where she put her pocketbook.
The Doctor
I don't see why Pa likes him so,?And seems so glad to have him come;?He jabs my ribs and wants to know?If here and there it's hurting some.?He holds my wrist, coz there are things?In there, which always jump and jerk,?Then, with a telephone he brings,?He listens to my breather work.
He taps my back and pinches me,?Then hangs a mirror on his head?And looks into my throat to see?What makes it hurt and if it's red.?Then on his knee he starts to write?And says to mother, with a smile:?"This ought to fix him up all right,?We'll cure him in a little while."
I don't see why Pa likes him so.?Whenever I don't want to play?He says: "The boy is sick, I know!?Let's get the doctor right away."?And when he comes, he shakes his hand,?And hustles him upstairs to me,?And seems contented just to stand?Inside the room where he can see.
Then Pa says every time he goes:?"That's money I am glad to pay;?It's worth it, when a fellow knows?His pal will soon be up to play."?But maybe if my Pa were me,?And had to take his pills and all,?He wouldn't be so glad to see?The doctor come to make a call.
Lines For a Flag Raising Ceremony
Full many a flag the breeze has kissed;?Through ages long the morning sun?Has risen o'er the early mist?The flags of men to look upon.?And some were red against the sky,?And some with colors true were gay,?And some in shame were born to die,?For Flags of hate must pass away.?Such symbols fall as men depart,?Brief is the reign of arrant might;?The vicious and the vile at heart?Give way in time before the right.
A flag is nothing in itself;?It
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