Young Men at Seventy-Three

OLD AGE
by Edgar Guest

I used to think that growing old was reckoned just in years,
but who can name the very date when weariness appears?
I find no stated time when man, obedient to a law,
must settle in an easy chair and from the world withdraw.
Old age is rather curious, or so it seems to me;
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.

I’m done with counting life by years or temples turning gray.
No man is old who wakes with joy to greet another day.
What if the body cannot dance with youth’s elastic spring?
There’s many a vibrant interest to which the mind can cling.
It’s in the spirit Age must dwell, or this would never be:
I know old men at forty and young men at seventy-three.

Some men keep all their friendships warm and welcome friendships new;
they have no time to sit and mourn the things they used to do.
This changing world they greet with joy and never bow to fate;
on every fresh adventure they set out with hearts elate.
From chilling fear and bitter dread they keep their spirits free
while some seem old at forty, they stay young at seventy-three.

So much to do, so much to learn, so much in which to share!
With twinkling eyes and minds alert some brave both time and care.
And this I’ve learned from other men, that only they are old
who think with something that has passed the tale of life is told.
For Age is not alone of time, or we should never see
men old and bent at forty and men young at seventy-three.

From the book, Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest,
©1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co

The Carefree Joys of Childhood

A WISH

by Edgar Guest

I’d like to be a boy again, a carefree prince of joy again,
I’d like to tread the hills and dales the way I used to do;
I’d like the tattered shirt again, the knickers thick with dirt again,
the ugly, dusty feet again that long ago I knew.

I’d like to play first base again, and Silver’s curves to face again,
I’d like to climb, the way I did, a friendly apple tree;
For, knowing what I do today, could I but wander back and play,
I’d get full measure of the joy that boyhood gave to me.

I’d like to be a lad again, a youngster wild and glad again,
I’d like to sleep and eat again the way I used to do;
I’d like to race and run again, and drain from life its fun again,
and start another round of joy the moment one was through.

But care and strife have come to me and often days are glum to me,
and sleep is not the thing it was and food is not the same;
and I have sighed, and known that I must journey on again to sigh,
and I have stood at envy’s point and heard the voice of shame.

I’ve learned that joys are fleeting things; that parting pain each meeting brings;
that gain and loss are partners here and so are smiles and tears;
that only boys from day to day can drain and fill the cup of play;
that age must mourn for what is lost throughout the coming years.

But boys cannot appreciate their priceless joy until too late
and those who own the charms I had will soon be changed to men.
And then they, too, will sit as I, and backward turn to look and sigh
and share my longing, vain, to be a carefree boy again.

From his book Along Life’s Highway
© 1933 by The Reilly and Lee Co.

The Brighter Side

          by Edgar Guest

Though life has its trouble and life has its care
and often its dark days of sorrow,
there is always the hope that the sky will be fair
and the heart will be happy tomorrow.

There is always the light of a goal just ahead,
a glimpse of the dream we’re pursuing;
in spite of the difficult pathway we tread
there is much it is good to be doing.

Time empties the purse of the pennies of youth,
the heart of its innocent laughter,
but gives in return just a few grains of truth
and the promise of more to come after.

There’s never a new day lived out to the end,
however life’s tempests may pitch us,
but what with a triumph, a joy, or a friend
the swift, fleeting hours may enrich us.

There’s so much to do and there’s so much to see
in spite of the troubles that fret us;
so much to wait for and so much to be
if only the future will let us–

that life with its burdens and life with its tear
and its heart-burning touches of sadness
still lures us all on to the end of our years
with its friendships, its loves and its gladness.

From Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest
Copyright 1934 by Contemporary Books, Inc.
Chicago, IL, USA