Home and the Office

Home is the place where the laughter should ring,
 And man should be found at his best.
Let the cares of the day be as great as they may,
 The night has been fashioned for rest.
So leave at the door when the toiling is o'er
 All the burdens of worktime behind,
And just be a dad to your girl or your lad—
 A dad of the rollicking kind.

The office is made for the tasks you must face;
 It is built for the work you must do;
You may sit there and sigh as your cares pile up high,
 And no one may criticize you;
You may worry and fret as you think of your debt,
 You may grumble when plans go astray,
But when it comes night, and you shut your desk tight,
 Don't carry the burdens away.

Keep daytime for toil and the nighttime for play,
 Work as hard as you choose in the town,
But when the day ends, and the darkness descends,
 Just forget that you're wearing a frown—
Go home with a smile! Oh, you'll find it worth while;
 Go home light of heart and of mind;
Go home and be glad that you're loved as a dad,
 A dad of the fun-loving kind.

                                                                                  (Author unknown)

The Finest Fellowship

There may be finer pleasures than just tramping with your boy,
And better ways to spend a day; there may be sweeter joy;
There may be richer fellowship than that of son and dad,
But if there is, I know it not; it's one I've never had.

Oh, some may choose to walk with kings and men of pomp and pride,
But as for me, I choose to have my youngster at my side.
And some may like the rosy ways of grown-up pleasures glad,
But I would go a-wandering with just a little lad.

Yes, I would seek the woods with him and talk to him of trees,
And learn to know the birds a-wing and hear their melodies;
And I would drop all worldly care and be a boy awhile;
Then hand-in-hand come home at dusk to see the mother smile.

Grown men are wearisome at times, and selfish pleasures jar,
But sons and dads throughout the world the truest comrades are.
So when I want a perfect day with every joy that's fine,
I spend it in the open with that little lad o' mine. 

By Edgar Albert Guest