Celebrating Autumn

OCTOBER

By Edgar Guest

Days are gettin' shorter an' the air a keener snap;
Apples now are droppin' into Mother Nature's lap;
The mist at dusk is risin' over valley, marsh an' fen
An' it's just as plain as sunshine, winter's comin' on again.

The turkeys now are struttin' round the old farmhouse once more;
They are done with all their nestin', and their hatchin' days are o'er;
Now the farmer's cuttin' fodder for the silo towerin' high
An' he's frettin' an' complainin' 'cause the corn's a bit too dry.

But the air is mighty peaceful an' the scene is good to see,
An' there's somethin' in October that stirs deep inside o' me;
An' I just can't help believin' in a God above us, when
Everything is ripe for harvest an the frost is back again.

AUTUMN EVEVNINGS
By Edgar Guest

Apples on the table an' the grate-fire blazin' high,
Oh, I'm sure the whole world hasn't any happier man than I;
The Mother sittin' mendin' little stockin's, toe an' knee,
An' tellin' all that's happened through the busy day to me:
Oh, I don't know how to say it, but these cosy autumn nights
Seem to glow with true contentment an' a thousand real delights.

The dog sprawled out before me knows that huntin' days are here,
'Cause he dreams and seems to whimper that a flock o' quail are near;
An' the children playin' checkers till it's time to go to bed,
Callin' me to settle questions whether black is beatin' red;
Oh, these nights are filled with gladness, an' I puff my pipe an' smile,
An' tell myself the struggle an' the work are both worth while.

The flames are full o' pictures that keep dancin' to an' fro,
Bringin' back the scenes o' gladness o' the happy long ago,
An' the whole wide world is silent an' I tell myself just this--
That within these walls I cherish, there is all my world there is!
Can I keep the love abiding in these hearts so close to me,
An' the laughter of these evenings, I shall gain life's victory.

FOR THIS CHILD WE PRAYED

 

Sweet poem about how fast our children grow up and the importance of allowing yourself to relish the moments you have with them. Those of us who have grown children, know this is just way too true. So those of you in the thick of the early years… trust us. J
 



For This Child We Prayed…  

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dust pan, poison the moth
Hang out the washing and butter the bread
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo)
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo)
The shopping is not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo)

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

By Ruth Hulburt Hamilton 

No Better Land Than This

Even with all its faults, I'm thankful to live in the US.  

Happy 4th of July and may God Bless America!

No Better Land Than This
By Edgar Guest

If I knew a better country in this glorious world today
Where a man's work hours are shorter and he's drawing bigger pay,
If the Briton or the Frenchman had an easier life than mine,
I'd pack my goods this minute and I'd sail across the brine.
But I notice when an alien wants a land of hope and cheer,
And a future for his children, he comes out and settles here.

Here's the glorious land of Freedom! Here's the milk and honey goal
For the peasant out of Russia, for the long-subjected Pole.
It is here the sons of Italy and men of Austria turn
For the comfort of their bodies and the wages they can earn.
And with all that men complain of, and with all that goes amiss,
There's no happier, better nation on the world's broad face than this.

So I'm thinking when I listen to the wails of discontent,
And some foreign disbeliever spreads his evil sentiment,
That the breed of hate and envy that is sowing sin and shame
In this glorious land of Freedom should go back from whence it came.
And I hold it is the duty, rich or poor, of every man
Who enjoys this country's bounty to be all American.

WHEN DAY IS DONE

I've been browsing Edgar Guest poems all morning, and just couldn't decide, so I'm posting 2 today.  Enjoy this beautiful poem - it is one of my absolute favorites.  What a glimpse at what it means to our husbands to have a home where they are honored and appreciated.  I am inspired to try harder when I read this. 
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WHEN DAY IS DONE
Edgar Guest

When day is done and the night slips down,
And I’ve turned my back on the busy town,
And come once more to the welcome gate
Where the roses nod and the children wait,
I tell myself as I see them smile
That life is good and its tasks worth while.

When day is done and I’ve come once more
To my quiet street and the friendly door,
Where the Mother reigns and the children play
And the kettle sings in the old-time way,
I throw my coat on a near-by chair
And say farewell to my pack of care.

When day is done, all the hurt and strife
And the selfishness and the greed of life,
Are left behind in the busy town;
I’ve ceased to worry about renown
Or gold or fame, and I’m just a dad,
Content to be with his girl and lad.

Whatever the day has brought of care,
Here love and laughter are mine to share,
Here I can claim what the rich desire–
Rest and peace by a ruddy fire,
The welcome words which the loved ones speak
And the soft caress of a baby’s cheek.

When day is done and I reach my gate,
I come to a realm where there is no hate,
For here, whatever my worth may be,
Are those who cling to their faith in me;
And with love on guard at my humble door,
I have all that the world has struggled for.

By Edgar Guest

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY - ONLY A DAD

 

 

Happy Father's Day to all the loving, diligent, hard working daddys out there.  Neither my own dad nor my husband had fathers to mentor them or love on them.  Both were victims of divorce and absent dads.  Yet, while they are far from perfect, they are both loving fathers, examples of how God is a Father to the  fatherless. Because of Jesus, they are determined to leave a different legacy for my children and offer an example of a diligent, faithful, family man.  And I am grateful for them both.   

ONLY A DAD
Only a dad, with a tired face,
Coming home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame,
To show how well he has played the game,
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see him come, and to hear his voice.

Only a dad, with a brood of four,
One of ten million men or more.
Plodding along in the daily strife,
Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,
Merely one of the surging crowd
Toiling, striving from day to day,
Facing whatever may come his way,
Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad, but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing, with courage stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only a dad, but the best of men.

By Edgar A. Guest 

Little Hands, Little Man

We aren't quite through all of these seasons with our oldest, but we're through enough of them that I can sure relate.

LITTLE HANDS, LITTLE MAN
by Victoria Brake
Proverbs 31 Ministries

Little hands to hold so tight.
Hair to comb, and tears to wipe.
Little feet that grow so fast.
Teeth to brush and bedtime baths.
Little cups that must be filled.
Teething rings that must be chilled.
Clothes that come in green and blue.
Doing things boys love to do.
Time is fleeting, oh so fast.
What was just here, is now the past.

Little hands that needed me.
Now need me less, I start to see.
He ties his shoes and combs his hair.
Picks out his clothes, knows what to wear.
We hunt for bugs and play with cars.
Draw pictures of the moon and stars.
We're at the park, we play pretend.
He tells me I'm his favorite friend.
Who, what, when, where, why and how?
He needs to know these things right now.
So full of life, so full of love.
This gift sent from the Lord above.

He's older now, my little man.
No need for him to hold my hand.
Fishing, camping, baseball games.
Collecting worms after it rains.
Each night I ask the Lord above,
to help me teach him how to love.
There's so much that he needs to know,
and I'm still learning as I go.
Please, Lord... PLEASE help me get this right.
I beg, as I lose sleep at night.
Precious soul, undefiled.
Lord, guide me as I raise this child.

What just happened? Can it be?
My little boy is now a teen.
I stock the fridge to keep him fed.
Make sure he still fits in his bed.
Try not to let my worry show.
This happened fast, where did time go?
Help me to listen patiently.
As I instruct him, Lord guide me.
May my words be gentle and kind.
Loving, sincere, pure and wise.
His time at home, will soon be gone.
It sure did fly, but it was fun.

His bags are packed and by the door.
He's off to face a whole new world.
It seems like only yesterday,
as I would rock him… he would say.
Just one more story, pretty please?
Please would you read one more to me?
Then I would tuck him in his bed,
and kiss him on his precious head.
No more karate, no more ball.
No more measurements on the wall.
Today he'll leave this cozy nest,
and spread his wings, and give his best.

Five years later, this handsome man,
will take a wife and give his hand.
A beautiful bride, for my son.
I've prayed for her since he was one.
Thank you Lord, for hearing me.
For growing now, our family tree.
Two young lives will now be one.
A new love story has begun.

Two years later, waiting room.
A child will be here very soon.
Tiny bundle, wrapped in blue.
My boy, he knows just what to do.
He holds his son so tenderly.
An instant bond that I can see.
I run my hand through baby's hair.
The tears they fall, without a care.
His child held gently on his chest.
The years ahead will be his best.
It's true, he may not know it yet.
But he will soon, that I can bet.
Little hands to hold so tight.
Hair to comb and tears to wipe.

 

A CHRISTMAS PRAYER
by Robert Louis Stevenson

"Loving Father, Help us remember the birth of Jesus,
that we may share in the song of angels,
the gladness of the shepherds,
and the worship of the wise men.
Close the door of hate and open the door of love
all over the world.
Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.

Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings,
and teach us to be merry with clean hearts.
May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children,
and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful
thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus' sake, Amen!"

Those We Love the Best

Those We Love the Best

They say this world is round, and yet
I often think it’s square.
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
But one great truth in life I’ve found,
While journeying to the west,
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.



Those you may thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, ’tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At what mere strangers do;
But those are only passing ills;
This rule all lives will prove:
The rankling wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by the hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom;
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But soon or late the fact grows plain
To all, through sorrow’s test.
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best.

  Author Unknown