Poems List

A Father's Prayer

A Father's Prayer

Lord, make me tolerant and wise;
Incline my ears to hear him through;
Let him not stand with downcast eyes,
Fearing to trust me and be true.
Instruct me so that I may know
The way my son and I should go.


When he shall err, as once did I,
Or boyhood folly bids him stray,
Let me not into anger fly
And drive the good in him away.
Teach me to win his trust, that he
Shall keep no secret hid from me.


Lord, strengthen me that I may be .
A fit example for my son.
Grant he may never hear or see
A shameful deed that I have done.
However sorely I am tried,
Let me not undermine his pride.


In spite of years and temples gray,
Still let my spirit beat with joy;
Teach me to share in all his play
And be a comrade with my boy.
Wherever we may chance to be,
Let him find happiness with me.


Lord, as his father, now I pray
For manhood's strength and counsel wise;
Let me deal justly, day by day,
In all that fatherhood implies.
To be his father, keep me fit;
Let me not play the hypocrite!
1,297

The best of all the preachers are the men who live their creeds.

 

‘Sermons we See’ (1926)

6
It matters not what goal you seek Its secret here reposes You've got to dig from week to week To get Results or Roses.
7
Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore at the rim of a far flung sky.
7
The timid and fearful first failures dismay, but the stout heart stays trying by night and by day.
7

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind, An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.

Home [1916]

6

When Father Shook The Stove

When Father Shook The Stove

'Twas not so many years ago,
Say, twenty-two or three,
When zero weather or below
Held many a thrill for me.
Then in my icy room I slept
A youngster's sweet repose,
And always on my form I kept
My flannel underclothes.
Then I was roused by sudden shock
Though still to sleep I strove,
I knew that it was seven o'clock
When father shook the stove.


I never heard him quit his bed
Or his alarm clock ring;
I never heard his gentle tread,
Or his attempts to sing;
The sun that found my window pane
On me was wholly lost,
Though many a sunbeam tried in vain
To penetrate the frost.
To human voice I never stirred,
But deeper down I dove
Beneath the covers, when I heard
My father shake the stove.


To-day it all comes back to me
And I can hear it still;
He seemed to take a special glee
In shaking with a will.
He flung the noisy dampers back,
Then rattled steel on steel,
Until the force of his attack
The building seemed to feel.
Though I'd a youngster's heavy eyes
All sleep from them he drove;
It seemed to me the dead must rise
When father shook the stove.


Now radiators thump and pound
And every room is warm,
And modern men new ways have found
To shield us from the storm.
The window panes are seldom glossed
The way they used to be;
The pictures left by old Jack Frost
Our children never see.
And now that he has gone to rest
In God's great slumber grove,
I often think those days were best
When father shook the stove.
627

The Wrist Watch Man

The Wrist Watch Man

He is marching dusty highways and he's riding bitter trails,
His eyes are clear and shining and his muscles hard as nails.
He is wearing Yankee khaki and a healthy coat of tan,
And the chap that we are backing is the Wrist Watch Man.


He's no parlour dude, a-prancing, he's no puny pacifist,
And it's not for affectation there's a watch upon his wrist.
He's a fine two-fisted scrapper, he is pure American,
And the backbone of the nation is the Wrist Watch Man.


He is marching with a rifle, he is digging in a trench,
He is swapping English phrases with a poilu for his French;
You will find him in the navy doing anything he can,
For at every post of duty is the Wrist Watch Man.


Oh, the time was that we chuckled at the soft and flabby chap
Who wore a little wrist watch that was fastened with a strap.
But the chuckles all have vanished, and with glory now we scan
The courage and the splendor of the Wrist Watch Man.


He is not the man we laughed at, not the one who won our jeers,
He's the man that we are proud of, he's the man that owns our cheers;
He's the finest of the finest, he's the bravest of the clan,
And I pray for God's protection for our Wrist Watch Man.
623

The Proof Of Worth

Though victory's proof of the skill you possess,
Defeat is the proof of your grit;
A weakling can smile in his days of success,
But at trouble's first sign he will quit.
So the test of the heart and the test of your pluck
Isn't skies that are sunny and fair,
But how do you stand to the blow that is struck
And how do you battle despair?


A fool can seem wise when the pathway is clear
And it's easy to see the way out,
But the test of man's judgment is something to fear,
And what does he do when in doubt?
And the proof of his faith is the courage he shows
When sorrows lie deep in his breast;
It's the way that he suffers the griefs that he knows
That brings out his worst or his best.


The test of a man is how much he will bear
For a cause which he knows to be right,
How long will he stand in the depths of despair,
How much will he suffer and fight?
There are many to serve when the victory's near
And few are the hurts to be borne,
But it calls for a leader of courage to cheer
The men in a battle forlorn.


It's the way you hold out against odds that are great
That proves what your courage is worth,
It's the way that you stand to the bruises of fate
That shows up your stature and girth.
And victory's nothing but proof of your skill,
Veneered with a glory that's thin,
Unless it is proof of unfaltering will,
And unless you have suffered to win.
9,971

The Lamb Skin

The Lamb Skin

It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,
Though of all my possesions, there's none can compare,
With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.


As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,
When Dad hustled around, and so much time was spent
On shaving and dressing and looking just right,
Until Mother would say: 'It's the Masons tonight.'


And some winter nights she said: 'What makes you go,
Way up there tonight thru the sleet and the snow?
You see the same things every month of the year.'
Then Dad would reply: 'Yes, I know it, my dear.'


'Forty years I have seen the same things, it is true.
And though they are old, they always seem new,
For the hands that I clasp, and the friends that I greet,
Seem a little bit closer each time that we meet.'


Years later I stood at that very same door,
With good men and true who had entered before,
I knelt at the alter, and there I was taught
That virtue and honor can never be bought.


That the spotless white lambskin all Masons revere,
If worthily worn grows more precious each year,
That service to others brings blessings untold,
That man may be poor tho surrounded by gold.


I learned that true brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade 'neath the compass and square,
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there on the level men meet and abide.


So, honor the lambskin, may it always remain
Forever unblemished, and free from all stain,
And when we are called to the Great Father's love,
May we all take our place in that Lodge up above.
621

Comments (1)

Log in to post a comment.
Duane Gevert
Duane Gevert

Brilliantly written and a poem that we, OLDER FOLKS, can related to!

Identification and basic context

Edgar Albert Guest was a British-born American poet, best known for his sentimental and optimistic verse that focused on everyday life and common experiences. He often wrote under his own name, Edgar Albert Guest.

Childhood and education

Born in Birmingham, England, Guest's family emigrated to the United States when he was ten years old, settling in Detroit, Michigan. His formal education was limited, but he possessed a natural talent for writing from a young age. He began his career in journalism at a young age, which honed his literary skills.

Literary trajectory

Guest began his writing career as a journalist, working for various Detroit newspapers. His poetry, initially published in these papers, quickly gained popularity. He was later hired by the Detroit Free Press, where his poems became a regular feature. His work was syndicated nationally, reaching a vast readership.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Guest's major works include "A Heap o' Livin'" (1916), "Peacock Feathers" (1920), and "Father wasn't There" (1918). His dominant themes revolved around family, patriotism, optimism, the struggles and joys of ordinary people, and the importance of simple virtues. His style was characterized by its simplicity, clarity, and accessible language, often employing rhyme and regular meter. His poetic voice was warm, familiar, and empathetic, aiming to connect with the reader on a personal level. He aimed for a conversational tone, making his poems feel like direct addresses to the reader.

Cultural and historical context

Guest's poetry flourished during a period of significant social and cultural change in the United States, including World War I and the Roaring Twenties. His work resonated with a public seeking comfort and reassurance during times of upheaval and rapid modernization. He belonged to no specific literary movement but rather represented a strand of popular, accessible verse that was widely embraced by the mass media of the time.

Personal life

Guest's personal life, marked by strong family values and a commitment to community, was reflected in his poetry. He was married and had children, and his poems often drew inspiration from his own domestic experiences and observations of family life. He was also known for his active involvement in civic life and his patriotic sentiments.

Recognition and reception

Edgar Albert Guest achieved immense popularity during his lifetime, becoming one of the most widely read poets in America. His poems were frequently quoted, recited, and published, earning him the moniker "America's People's Poet." While critically, his work was often seen as sentimental, its widespread public appeal and its ability to capture the spirit of the times were undeniable.

Influences and legacy

While Guest did not identify strong literary influences in the academic sense, his work was influenced by the tradition of popular verse and the journalistic style of his era. He, in turn, influenced a generation of readers and writers who appreciated his directness and emotional resonance. His legacy lies in his ability to connect with a broad audience through accessible and heartfelt poetry.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Guest's work is often interpreted as a reflection of the values and aspirations of the American middle class during the early to mid-20th century. Critics sometimes point to its lack of complex literary devices or profound philosophical inquiry, but its strength lies in its emotional authenticity and its ability to articulate common human experiences.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Guest's prolific output and consistent popularity made him a household name. He was also known for his public readings and his ability to engage directly with his audience. His seemingly simple approach to poetry masked a keen understanding of human sentiment and a knack for creating relatable narratives.

Death and memory

Edgar Albert Guest passed away, leaving behind a vast body of work that continues to be remembered for its warmth and its portrayal of an era. His poems are still occasionally read and appreciated for their nostalgic value and their simple, heartfelt messages.