The Path to Home. Edgar A. Guest

on the faces that I love.

The Lost Purse

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      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

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      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

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      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 but reflects the lives of men;

       And they who lived and toiled for pelf

       Went out as vipers in a den.

       God cleans the sky from time to time

       Of every tyrant flag that flies,

       And every brazen badge of crime

       Falls to the ground and swiftly dies.

       Proud kings are mouldering in the dust;

       Proud flags of ages past are gone;

       Only the symbols of the just

       Have lived and shall keep living on.

      So long as we shall serve the truth,

       So long as honor stamps us fair,

       Each age shall pass unto its youth

       Old Glory proudly flying there!

       But if we fail our splendid past,

       If we prove faithless, weak and base,

       That age shall be our banner's last;

       A fairer flag shall take its place.

       This flag we fling unto the skies

       Is but an emblem of our hearts,

       And when our love of freedom dies,

       Our banner with our race departs.

      Full many a flag the breezes kiss,

       Full many a flag the sun has known,

       But none so bright and fair as this;

       None quite so splendid as our own!

       This tells the world that we are men

       Who cling to manhood's ways and truth;

       It is our soul's great voice and pen,