POEMS: “What I call living” by Edgar Albert Guest

1

“What I call living”

The miser thinks he’s living when he’s hoarding up his gold;
The soldier calls it living when he’s doing something bold;
The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,
And upon this vital subject no two of us agree.
But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,
That living’s made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.
I wouldn’t call it living always to be seeking gold,
To bank all the present gladness for the days when I’ll be old.
I wouldn’t call it living to spend all my strength for fame,
And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim.
I wouldn’t for the splendor of the world set out to roam,
And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home.
Oh, the thing that I call living isn’t gold or fame at all!
It’s good-fellowship and sunshine, and it’s roses by the wall;
It’s evenings glad with music and a hearth fire that’s ablaze,
And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways.
It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal;
It is everything that’s needful in the shaping of a soul.
by Edgar Albert Guest
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2 Comments Add yours

  1. LindaP says:

    Too bad we seem to learn this too late!

    Like

  2. Yes, I feel the same way too. That is one great piece of advice on what should be our priority. Many of us tend to let work take over our lives, and spend most of our lives “busy at work”. We missed so many precious moments because of it.

    Like

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