• Author: Guest, Edgar A.
• Editor: B-7413
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 5
• Page Number:
• Date: 8 16 1916
• Tags:
• poetry

IN A RUT Edgar A. Guest

Same faces every day I see, The same old task to do, I know tomorrow’s going to be The yesterday I knew. Though other fellows higher climb And prosper, I remain A settled fixture all the time And not a mile I gain.

Sometimes I feel that I am tied And bound by circumstance, That in a field of labor wide I’ve never had a chance. Only the narrow roads of life My feet have ever trod; Without a thrill I face the strife, A soulless human clod.

And long ago I ceased to dream Of splendors that might be, My eyes gave up the glorious gleam Of future victory. I used to wonder now and then What time might have in store For me and my fellow-men, But I do that no more.

Each day is like its yesterday, Each year a year of grind; Along my narrow, dreary way There’s nothing new to find. I see my neighbors proudly claim New pleasures as theyv go, But all my joys remain the same And not a thrill I know.

Do such thoughts ever come to you? Do you rebel at night Against the tasks you have to do, And dread the morning light? Then rouse yourself and break away, No door to you is shut, Your trouble is that day by day You're sticking in a rut.