Lemon Pie
The world is full of gladness, There are joys of many kinds,
There's a cure for every sadness, That each troubled mortal finds.
And my little cares grow lighter And I cease to fret and sigh,
And my eyes with joy grow brighter When she makes a lemon pie.
When the bronze is on the filling That's one mass of shining gold,
And its molten joy is spilling On the plate, my heart grows
And the kids and I in chorus Raise one glad exultant
And we cheer the treat before us Which is mother's lemon pie.
Then the little troubles vanish, And the sorrows disappear,
Then we find the grit to banish All the cares that hovered near,
And we smack our lips in pleasure O'er a joy no coin can buy,
And we down the golden treasure Which is known as lemon pie.
This version taken from Just Folks by Edgar A
Published by The Reilly & Lee Co.,
Chicago,
Page 65
Edgar Albert Guest
Other author posts
Its September
It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold, And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold; Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red And the good old-fashioned asters laughing at ...
The Little Home
The little house is not too To shelter friends who come to call Though low the roof and small its It holds the Lord's abounding grace,
Equipment
Figure it out for yourself, my lad, You've all that the greatest of men have had, Two arms, two hands, two legs, two eyes, And a brain to use if you would be wise
Memorial Day
The finest tribute we can Unto our hero dead to-day, Is not a rose wreath, white and red, In memory of the blood they shed;
