We play at our house and have all sorts of fun, and there's always a game when supper is done;
There's marks on the walls and the stairs, and some scratches on some of the chairs;
And Ma says that our house is surely a fright, but Pa and I say that our house is just right.
I've been to houses with Pa where I had to sit in a chair like a good little lad;
Their walls are clean and their curtains hang straight, everything's shiny and right up to date;
But Pa says, with all of its racket and fuss, he'd rather by far live at our house with us.

-- Edgar Guest
These joys are free to all who live, the rich and poor, the great and low;
The charm which kindness has to give, the smiles which friendship may bestow,
The honor of a well-spent life, the glory of a purpose true,
High courage in the stress of strife, and peace when every task is through.

Nor class nor caste, nor race nor creed, nor greater might can take away
The splendor of an honest deed. Who nobly serves from day to day
Shall walk the road of life with pride, with friends who recognize his worth,
For never are these joys denied unto the humblest man on earth.
Not all may rise to worldwide fame, not all may gather fortune's gold,
Not all life's luxuries may claim; in differing ways success is told.
But all may know the peace of mind which comes from service brave and true.
The poorest man can still be kind, and nobly live till life is through.

These joys abound for one and all: the pride of fearing no man's scorn,
Of standing firm, where others fall, of bearing well what must be borne.
He that shall do an honest deed shall win an honest deed's rewards;
For these, no matter race or creed, life unto every man affords.

-- Edgar Guest
That which we had we still possess, though leaves may drop and stars may fall;
No circumstance can make it less or take it from us, all in all.
That which is lost we did not own; we only held it for a day...
A leaf by careless breezes blown; no fate can take our own away.
I hold it as a changeless law from which no soul can sway or swerve,
We have that in us which will draw whate'er we need or most deserve.
We think we lose when most we gain; we call joys ended 'ere begun;
When stars fade out, do skies complain, or glory in the the rising sun?
No fate can rob us of our own...no circumstance can make it less;
What time removes was but a loan, while what was ours, we still possess.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
There are two kinds of people on earth today; just two kinds of people, no more, I say.
Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood, the good are half bad, and the bad are half good.
Not rich and poor, to rate a man's wealth, you must first know the state of his conscience and health.
Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span, who puts on vain airs, is not counted a man.
Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.
No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean, are the people who lift, and the people who lean.
Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses, are always divided in just these two classes.
And oddly enough, you will find, too, I ween, there's only one lifter to twenty who lean.
In which class are you?  Are you easing the load of over-taxed lifters, who toil down the road?
Or are you a leaner, who lets others share your portion of labor and worry and care?

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Men have sought for gold and silver; men have dreamed at night of fame;
In the heat of youth they've struggled for achievement's honored name;
But their crowns are made of tinsel, and their shining jewels are paste,
And the wine of pomp and glory soon grows bitter to the taste.
For there's never any laughter, howsoever far you roam,
Like the laughter of the loved ones in the sweet and gentle home.

-- Edgar Guest
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This is the place that I love best, a little white house, like a ground bird's nest,
Hid among grasses and vines and trees, summer retreat of the birds and bees.

The tenderest light that ever was seen sifts through the vine-made window screen...
Sifts and quivers and flits and falls on home-made rugs and pictured walls.

All through June the west wind free, the breath of clover brings to me,
All through the languid July day, I catch the scent of new-mown hay.

The morning-glories and scarlet vine over the doorway twist and twine;
And every day, when the house is still, the hummingbird comes to the window sill.

In the loveliest chamber under the sun, I sink to sleep when the day is done;
And am waked at morn, in my feather bed, by a singing bird on the roof o'er head.

Far from the city's dust and heat, I get but sounds and scents so sweet.
Who can wonder I love to stay, week after week, here hidden away,
In this friendly nook that I love the best...this little white house like a ground bird's nest?

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I'm glad to be back home again, where abide the friendly men;
Glad to see the same old scenes and the little house that means
All the joys the soul has treasured...glad to be where smiles aren't measured,
Where I've blended with the gladness, all the heart has known of sadness,
Where some long familiar steeple marks my town of friendly people.

Like to be where men about me do not look on me to doubt me;
Where I know the men and women, and why tears some eyes are dimmin',
Know the good folks and the bad folks, and the glad folks and the sad folks;
Where we live with one another, meaning something to each other.
And I'm glad to see the steeple, where the crowds aren't merely people.

-- Edgar Guest
I'm glad our house is a little house, not too tall nor wide;
I'm glad the hovering butterflies feel free to come inside.
Our little house is a friendly house, it is neither shy nor vain;
It gossips with the talking trees, and makes friends with the rain.
And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the faithful bees are paying duty calls.

-- Christopher Morley