Lemon Pie
by Edgar Guest (1881-1959)

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 bold
And the kids and I in chorus
      Raise one glad exultant cry
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.

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