My Job By Edgar Albert Guest

My Job

I wonder where’s a better job than buying cake and meat,
And chocolate drops and sugar buns for little folks to eat?
And who has every day to face a finer round of care
Than buying frills and furbelows for little folks to wear?

Oh, you may brag how much you know and boast of what you do,
And think an all-important post has been assigned to you,
But I’ve the greatest job on earth, a task I’ll never lose;
I’ve several pairs of little feet to keep equipped with shoes.

I rather like the job I have, though humble it may be,
And little gold or little fame may come from it to me;
It seems to me that life can give to man no finer joy
Than buying little breeches for a sturdy little boy.

My job is not to run the world or pile up bonds and stocks;
It’s just to keep two little girls in plain and fancy frocks;
To dress and feed a growing boy whose legs are brown and stout,
And furnish stockings just as fast as he can wear them out.

I would not for his crown and throne change places with a king,
I’ve got the finest job on earth and unto it I’ll cling;
I know no better task than mine, no greater chance for joys,
Than serving day by day the needs of little girls and boys.

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