The Path to Home — Story, Setting & Ideas

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Guest, Edgar A. (Edgar Albert), 1881-1959 Project Gutenberg 2007 Not confirmed
American poetry -- 20th century Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Edition facts

Words 31,866
Reading time 139 min
Text sections 7

Before opening The Path to Home — Story, Setting & Ideas, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 31,866 words, 2 hr 19 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.

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Edgar A. Guest's 1919 poetry collection uses plain-spoken, rhymed verse to explore domestic life, fatherhood, and quiet perseverance. The title poem and others like 'The Burden Bearer' and 'Faith' reveal a consistent voice that finds dignity in daily labor and family bonds, with a recurring emphasis on home as both physical place and emotional anchor.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.6/5

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Read the Text

And looked at me, and turned away; That night there was no further play. The girls were solemn-like and still, Just as girls are when they are ill, And when unto his cot I crept, I found him sobbing as he slept.

That was my first attempt and last To play the scold. I'm glad it passed So quickly and has left no trace Of memory on each little face; But now when mother whispers low: "You're spoiling them," I answer, "No! But it is plain, as plain can be, Those little tykes are spoiling me."

An Old-Fashioned Welcome

There's nothing cheers a fellow up just like a hearty greeting, A handclasp and an honest smile that flash the joy of meeting; And when at friendly doors you ring, somehow it seems to free you From all life's doubts to hear them say: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"

At first the portal slips ajar in answer to your ringing, And then your eyes meet friendly eyes, and wide the door goes flinging; And something seems to stir the soul, however troubled be you, If but the cheery host exclaims: "Come in! We're glad to see you!"

We play at our house and have all sorts of fun, An' there's always a game when the supper is done; An' at our house there's marks on the walls an' the stairs, An' some terrible scratches on some of the chairs; An' ma says that our house is really a fright, But pa and I say that our house is all right.

At our house we laugh an' we sing an' we shout, An' whirl all the chairs an' the tables about, An' I rassle my pa an' I get him down too, An' he's all out of breath when the fightin' is through; An' ma says that our house is surely a sight, But pa an' I say that our house is all right.

I've been to houses with pa where I had To sit in a chair like a good little lad, An' there wasn't a mark on the walls an' the chairs, An' the stuff that we have couldn't come up to theirs; An' pa said to ma that for all of their joy He wouldn't change places an' give up his boy.

They never have races nor rassles nor fights, Coz they have no children to play with at nights; An' their walls are all clean an' their curtains hang straight, An' everything's shiny an' right up to date; But pa says with all of its racket an' fuss, He'd rather by far live at our house with us.

God grant me these: the strength to do Some needed service here; The wisdom to be brave and true; The gift of vision clear, That in each task that comes to me Some purpose I may plainly see.

God teach me to believe that I Am stationed at a post, Although the humblest 'neath the sky, Where I am needed most. And that, at last, if I do well My humble services will tell.

God grant me faith to stand on guard, Uncheered, unspoke, alone, And see behind such duty hard My service to the throne. Whate'er my task, be this my creed: I am on earth to fill a need.

"Tell us a story," comes the cry From little lips when nights are cold, And in the grate the flames leap high. "Tell us a tale of pirates bold, Or fairies hiding in the glen, Or of a ship that's wrecked at sea." I fill my pipe, and there and then Gather the children round my knee.

I give them all a role to play-- No longer are they youngsters small, And I, their daddy, turning gray; We are adventurers, one and all. We journey forth as Robin Hood In search of treasure, or to do Some deed of daring or of good; Our hearts are ever brave and true.

We take a solemn oath to be Defenders of the starry flag; We brave the winter's stormy sea, Or climb the rugged mountain crag, To battle to the death with those Who would defame our native land; We pitch our camp among the snows Or on the tropics' burning sand.

We rescue maidens, young and fair, Held captive long in prison towers; We slay the villain in his lair, For we're possessed of magic powers. And though we desperately fight, When by our foes are we beset, We always triumph for the right; We have not lost a battle yet.

The title poem, 'The Path to Home,' establishes the collection's central image: a house with 'the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,' where 'shaggy asters' and 'curtains white and straight' transform ordinary details into emblems of comfort. Guest's meter is regular, his rhymes predictable, and his diction deliberately simple—'the simplest of the blossoms seems of mighty consequence.' This opening sets a tone of earnest sentiment, but the poems that follow reveal a more varied emotional range, from the rueful humor of 'Mrs. Malone and the Censor' to the stoic resolve of 'The Burden Bearer.'

The Voice of the Everyman

Guest writes in a consistent first-person persona that is both personal and representative. In 'The Burden Bearer,' the speaker admits, 'Oh, my shoulders grow aweary of the burdens I am bearin',' but immediately pivots to duty: 'I'm glad to bear the burdens for the ones who come behind me.' This pattern—acknowledging weariness, then affirming obligation—recurs across the collection. The poems rarely dwell in complaint; instead, they transform fatigue into a quiet heroism. 'Faith' similarly counsels endurance: 'keep your faith in the God above, / And faith in the righteous truth.' The voice is that of a father, a husband, a neighbor—never a solitary genius. Guest's speaker is defined by his relationships, not his individuality.

Domestic Details as Moral Anchors

Guest builds his poems around specific, homely objects and moments: a 'cut-down trousers,' a 'cookie-lady,' a 'furnace door,' 'bread and jam.' These are not mere decoration; they carry the weight of the poem's argument. In 'The Path to Home,' the 'little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight' are not just descriptive—they signify order, care, and belonging. The poem 'Our House' (listed in the index) likely extends this technique. By grounding abstract values like love, duty, and faith in tangible things—a child's smile, a father's chore, a mother's party dress—Guest makes his moral lessons feel concrete. The reader is invited to see the sacred in the everyday, a strategy that gives the collection its distinctive texture.

Humor and the Lightening of Burden

Not all of Guest's poems are solemn. 'Mrs. Malone and the Censor' and 'Bud Discusses Cleanliness' suggest a playful side, and the excerpt about the 'comedian' in the trenches—'He mocks at death and he jests at toil'—shows Guest using humor as a coping mechanism. The poem 'The Comedian' (from the index) celebrates the figure who 'brightened their days with laughter' amid war's grimness. This counterweight prevents the collection from becoming cloying. Guest understands that 'the simplest of the blossoms' can coexist with 'a jest absurd.' The humor is never cynical; it is a form of resilience, a way to 'turn their thoughts from the grief that is to the joy that may come to-morrow.'

The Recurring Theme of Inheritance

Several poems explicitly address the idea of passing something down. In 'The Burden Bearer,' the speaker reflects on his own father: 'a rougher road to travel had my father good before me, / An' I'm owin' all my gladness to the tasks he shouldered for me.' This sense of generational debt recurs in 'Father of the Man' and 'His Example.' The speaker labors not for himself but for 'the children comin' after.' The collection thus becomes a meditation on legacy—not of wealth or fame, but of effort and example. The title 'The Path to Home' itself suggests a journey that is both literal and figurative, a path cleared by those who came before. Guest's poems repeatedly affirm that the home one builds is also the home one leaves behind.

Readers approaching The Path to Home will find a consistent voice and a clear moral framework. The poems reward attention to recurring motifs—burden, faith, home, inheritance—and to the way Guest uses simple language to express complex emotions. The index reveals a wide range of subjects, from war to childhood to aging, all treated with the same earnestness. A first reading might focus on how the title poem's imagery of doorways and windows recurs in later pieces, creating a cohesive emotional geography. Guest's work is best appreciated not as high art but as a sincere record of early twentieth-century domestic values.

Rain tapped the window while I reread Guest’s “The Path to Home,” his plain lines about fatherhood and mended fences settling like warm tea. Later, idly shelving books, I pulled down the Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham — those older, courtlier voices also yearned for quiet hearths and steady love, a different music for the same ache. Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham — Edition Insights waited nearby, a soft echo across centuries.

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