Edgar Albert Guest
Edgar Allen Guest also known as Eddie Guest was a prolific English-born American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th century and became known as the People's Poet.
Eddie Guest was born in Birmingham, England in 1881, moving to Michigan USA as a young child, it was here he was educated.
In 1895, the year before Henry Ford took his first ride in a motor carriage, Eddie Guest signed on with the Free Press as a 13-year-old office boy. He stayed for 60 years.
In those six decades, Detroit underwent half a dozen identity changes, but Eddie Guest became a steadfast character on the changing scene.
Three years after he joined the Free Press,... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Edgar Albert Guest Poems
See it Through
When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace.
How much grit do you think you've got? Can you quit a thing that you like a lot? You may talk of pluck; it's an easy word, And where'er you go it is often heard;
My father knows the proper way The nation should be run; He tells us children every day Just what should now be done.
The Bachelor's Soliloquy
To wed, or not to wed; that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The bills and house rent of a wedded fortune, Or to say "nit" when she proposes,
Ain't no use as I can see In sittin' underneath a tree An' growlin' that your luck is bad, An' that your life is extry sad;
Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice, An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice; An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they Are growin' more beautiful day after day;
A Toast to the Men
Here's to the men! Since Adam's time They've always been the same; Whenever anything goes wrong, The woman is to blame.
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.
The Little Orphan
The crowded street his playground is, a patch of blue his sky; A puddle in a vacant lot his sea where ships pass by: Poor little orphan boy of five, the city smoke and grime Taint every cooling breeze he gets throughout the summer time;
He Who Serves
He has not served who gathers gold, Nor has he served, whose life is told In selfish battles he has won,
I would rather see a Mason, than hear one any day, I would rather one would walk with me than merely show the way.
I've trod the links with many a man, And played him club for club; 'Tis scarce a year since I began And I am still a dub.
The saddest sort of death to die Would be to quit the game called life And know, beneath the gentle sky, You'd lived a slacker in the strife.
The Kick Under The Table
After a man has been married awhile, And his wife has grown used to his manner And style,
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
See it Through
When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
When it's vain to try to dodge it,
Do the best that you can do;
You may fail, but you may conquer,
See it through!
Black may be the clouds about you
And your future may seem grim,
But don't let your nerve desert you;
Keep yourself in fighting trim.
If the worst is bound to happen,
Spite of all that you can do,
Running from it will not save you,
See it ...