Only A Dad

Only a Dad with a tired face
Coming home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame
To show how well he has played the game,
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see him come and to hear his voice.

Only a Dad, with a brood of four
One of ten million men or more
Plodding along in the daily strife,
Bearing the whips and scorns of life
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a Dad, neither rich nor proud,
Merely one of the surging crowd,
Toiling, striving, from day to day,
Facing whatever may come his way;
Silent whenever the harsh condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a Dad, but he gives his all
To soothe the way of his children small
Doing with courage stern and grim
The deeds that his father did for him,
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only Dad, but the best of men.

—Edgar A. Guest