Oh the comfort--
the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person--
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all right out,
just as they are,
chaff and grain together,
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

"Friendship" by M. M. Craik

Tuesday, November 27, 2012


Florence loved the writing of Edgar A. Guest.  His poems are scattered throughout her journal.  "Career" is not one of Mr. Guest's more well-known works, but it's quite thoughtful.  Pondering the worth of someone who left no tangible record of his existence.


There are some who build with brick and stone
  And some who guide a pen.
But the greater art is to play a part
   In the throbbing lives of men.

Though a page of print may lovely be
   And pictures joy may bring,
To give men strength for this long life's length
   Is by far a greater thing.

When the critics sit in their judgement halls
   On the things men build or write,
They blame or praise in the narrow ways
   Of hearing and of sight.

But what of that worth which the eye sees not
    And no glass can quite reveal,
That subtle gift which has power to lift
   The weight of the woes men feel?

What of that life which leaves no trace
   In records of print or stone
Yet is graven deep in the dreams men keep
   And is found in the faith they've shown?

There is much to be said for man's deeds and skill
   And much for his works of art,
But beyond compare is that influence rare
   Which has bettered the human heart.

                                ~Edgar A. Guest

No comments:

Post a Comment