My Virtual Reading Room

If I could have any wish it would not be for wealth or fame at all,
But a firmer grip on fellowship and all joys great and small,
And I'd like to know as I come and go much more of this world we share,
With a wiser mind I could always find some joy in the task I bear.

If I could have my wish it would not be for a strong man's power,
But a mind so filled with love 'twere thrilled by the sight of a bird or flower,
And a heart so deep it could safely keep all good things warm within
So that I could turn with delight to learn what each new day ushered in.

If I could have my wish it would not be for some glittering prize,
But a faith so strong it could walk along wherever my pathway lies.
My best I'd give to each hour I live and whether in peace or strife
I should like to stay to my final day aglow with the joy of life.

(Edgar A. Guest)

Awakening

Oh, I wanted to be pampered and I wanted to be petted;
I thought that Life should run to me with comfort when I fretted,
And so I used to wail for joys I had no means of buying,
But Life went on about its work and never heard me crying.

I used to fly in tantrums when some pleasure was denied me;
I fancied everyone was wrong who raised a voice to chide me.
I thought that Life should run to me with pretty things to show me,
But Life went on about its work and never seemed to know me.

I know not how the thought began nor why so long it lasted;
I wanted cake and pie to eat while others bravely fasted;
I wanted easy tasks to do, high pay without the labor,
But Life, I noticed, passed me by to visit with my neighbor.

Then suddenly I faced about--stopped my senseless whining.
Took disappointment with a grin and loss without repining;
I found that woes were everywhere and some would surely strike me;
I strapped my burdens on my back--and Life began to like me.

(Edgar A. Guest)

It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red
And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at us from their bed;
Once again in shoes and stockings are the children's little feet,
And the dog now does his snoozing on the bright side of the street.

It's September, and the cornstalks are as high as they will go,
And the red cheeks of the apples everywhere begin to show;
Now the supper's scarcely over ere the darkness settles down
And the moon looms big and yellow at the edges of the town;
Oh, it's good to see the children, when their little prayers are said,
Duck beneath the patchwork covers when they tumble into bed.

It's September, and a calmness and a sweetness seem to fall
Over everything that's living, just as though it hears the call
Of Old Winter, trudging slowly, with his pack of ice and snow,
In the distance over yonder, and it somehow seems as though
Every tiny little blossom wants to look its very best
When the frost shall bite its petals and it droops away to rest.

It's September!  It's the fullness and the ripeness of the year;
All the work of earth is finished, or the final tasks are near,
But there is no doleful wailing; every living thing that grows,
For the end that is approaching wears the finest garb it knows.
And I pray that I may proudly hold my head high up and smile
When I come to my September in the golden afterwhile.

(Edgar A. Guest)