Poem: “The Fishing Cure” by Edgar A. Guest

A Heap o’ Livin’

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American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’
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The Fishing Cure

  There’s nothing that builds up a toil-weary soul
    Like a day on a stream,
  Back on the banks of the old fishing hole
    Where a fellow can dream.
  There’s nothing so good for a man as to flee
    From the city and lie
  Full length in the shade of a whispering tree
    And gaze at the sky.

  Out there where the strife and the greed are forgot
    And the struggle for pelf,
  A man can get rid of each taint and each spot
    And clean up himself;
  He can be what he wanted to be when a boy,
    If only in dreams;
  And revel once more in the depths of a joy
    That’s as real as it seems.

  The things that he hates never follow him there—
    The jar of the street,
  The rivalries petty, the struggling unfair—
    For the open is sweet.
  In purity’s realm he can rest and be clean,
    Be he humble or great,
  And as peaceful his soul may become as the scene
    That his eyes contemplate.

  It is good for the world that men hunger to go
    To the banks of a stream,
  And weary of sham and of pomp and of show
    They have somewhere to dream.
  For this life would be dreary and sordid and base
    Did they not now and then
  Seek refreshment and calm in God’s wide, open space
    And come back to be men.

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The Happy Slow Thinker > > >

American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’

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