A Lesson from Golf by Edgar A. Guest

https://pixabay.com/en/golf-sunset-sport-golfer-bat-787826/

 

 

A Lesson from Golf

by Edgar A. Guest

 

He couldn’t use his driver any better on the tee

Than the chap that he was licking, who just happened to be me;

I could hit them with a brassie just as straight and just as far,

But I piled up several sevens while he made a few in par;

And he trimmed me to a finish, and I know the reason why:

He could keep his temper better when he dubbed a shot than I.

 

His mashie stroke is choppy, without any follow through;

I doubt if he will ever, on a short hole, cop a two,

But his putts are straight and deadly, and he doesn’t even frown

When he’s tried to hole a long one and just fails to get it down.

On the fourteenth green I faded; there he put me on the shelf,

And it’s not to his discredit when I say I licked myself.

 

He never whined or whimpered when a shot of his went wrong;

Never kicked about his troubles, but just plodded right along.

When he flubbed an easy iron, though I knew that he was vexed,

He merely shrugged his shoulders, and then coolly played the next,

While I flew into a frenzy over every dub I made

And was loud in my complaining at the dismal game I played.

 

Golf is like the game of living; it will show up what you are;

If you take your troubles badly you will never play to par.

You may be a fine performer when your skies are bright and blue

But disaster is the acid that shall prove the worth of you;

So just meet your disappointments with a cheery sort of grin,

For the man who keeps his temper is the man that’s sure to win.

 

Your Friend and Pep Pal,

Lauren

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A Good Name by Edgar A. Guest

Copyright Artisans Workshop Designs

 

A Good Name

by Edgar A. Guest

 

Men talk too much of gold and fame,

And not enough about a name;

And yet a good name’s better far

Than all earth’s glistening jewels are.

Who holds his name above all price

And chooses every sacrifice

To keep his earthly record clear,

Can face the world without a fear.

 

Who never cheats nor lies for gain,

A poor man may, perhaps, remain,

Yet, when at night he goes to rest,

No little voice within his breast

Disturbs his slumber. Conscience clear,

He falls asleep with naught to fear

And when he wakes the world to face

He is not tainted by disgrace.

 

Who keeps his name without a stain

Wears no man’s brand and no man’s chain;

He need not fear to speak his mind

In dread of what the world may find.

He then is master of his will;

None may command him to be still,

Nor force him, when he would stand fast,

To flinch before his hidden past.

 

Not all the gold that men may claim

Can cover up a deed of shame;

Not all the fame of victory sweet

Can free the man who played the cheat;

He lives a slave unto the last

Unto the shame that mars his past.

He only freedom here may own

Whose name a stain has never known.

 

Your Friend and Pep Pal,

Lauren

Kindness by Edgar A. Guest

https://pixabay.com/en/clasped-hands-comfort-hands-people-541849/

 

 

Kindness

by Edgar A. Guest

 

One never knows

How far a word of kindness goes;

One never sees

How far a smile of friendship flees.

Down, through the years,

The deed forgotten reappears.

 

One kindly word

The souls of many here has stirred.

Man goes his way

And tells with every passing day,

Until life’s end:”

Once unto me he played the friend.”

 

We cannot say

What lips are praising us to-day.

We cannot tell

Whose prayers ask God to guard us well.

But kindness lives

Beyond the memory of him who gives.

 

Your Friend and Pep Pal,

Lauren

Faces by Edgar A. Guest

https://pixabay.com/en/hand-help-1331323/

 

I look into the faces of the people passing by,

The glad ones and the sad ones, and the lined with misery,

And I wonder why the sorrow or the twinkle in the eye;

But the pale and weary faces are the ones that trouble me.

 

I saw a face this morning, and time was when it was fair;

Youth had brushed it bright with color in the distant long ago,

And the goddess of the lovely once had kept a temple there,

But the cheeks were pale with grieving and the eyes were dull with woe.

 

Who has done this thing I wondered; what has wrought the ruin here?

Why these sunken cheeks and pallid where the roses once were pink?

Why has beauty fled her palace; did some vandal hand appear?

Did her lover prove unfaithful or her husband take to drink?

 

Once the golden voice of promise whispered sweetly in her ears;

She was born to be a garden where the smiles of love might lurk;

Now the eyes that shone like jewels are but gateways for her tears,

And she takes her place among us, toilers early bound for work.

 

Is it fate that writes so sadly, or the cruelty of man?

What foul deed has marred the parchment of a life so fair as this?

Who has wrecked this lovely temple and destroyed the Maker’s plan,

Raining blows on cheeks of beauty God had fashioned just to kiss?

 

Oh, the pale and weary faces of the people that I see

Are the ones that seem to haunt me, and I pray to God above

That such cruel desolation shall not ever come to be

Stamped forever in the future on the faces that I love.

 

Your Friend and Pep Pal,

Lauren