Edgar Guest's "The Cheat"

As I read this poem, there is more than meets the eye. Don't let the title fool you. There is more to this poem than meets the eye. I'm tempted to fill in the details but I think I would be cheating you (no pun intended but I think you may see where this is going). Imagine cheating a friend in a way you least expect and you'll get the moral of the story. This is one message to remember.

Taken from http://sofinesjoyfulmoments.com/quotes/theCheat.htm

"The Cheat"


by Edgar Guest

I cheated a good friend yesterday,
Kept what was his, and went my way,
Wronged him by silence-for in haste
I let a glad thought go to waste.

I had a word of cheer to speak,
To strengthen him when he grew weak,
To send him smiling on his way -
But what I thought I didn't say.

He would have richer been to know

That deed of his had pleased me so,

But oh, I failed to let him see

How much his conquest meant to me.


I cheated him of words of praise
Which would have cheered his troubled days;
In this a faithful friend I wronged,
By keeping what to him belonged.

The praise was his by right to hear,
To him belonged my word of cheer;
In silence, though, from him I turned
And cheated him of what he'd earned.

Edgar Guest's "Influence"

I'm really becoming a fan of Edgar Guest. It seems his poetry has not only a wonderful writing style but a very powerful and/or positive message. His poetry is also pretty profound. This poem is no exception.


This topic is about influence you have on others. If I taught English at the high school or college level, Guest's work would be a part of the reading list. I think you will enjoy this. It may be worth committing to memory (as of yet, I have not).

"Influence"


by Edgar Guest

(as taken from http://sofinesjoyfulmoments.com/quotes/influence.htm)


This I think as I go my way:


What can matter the words I say,


And what can matter the false or true


Of any deed I am moved to do?






This I think as I go along:


What can matter my right or wrong?


Whichever path I may choose to take,


What possible difference can it make?






This I think as I go to town:


What can matter my smile or frown?


Can any one's destiny altered be


For better or worse because of me?






And something whispers;


"Another may be sadly deceived


By the words you say.


And another, believing and trusting you,


May be led astray by the things you do."






"For much that never you'll see or know


Will mark your days as you come and go.


And in countless lives that you'll never learn


The best and the worst of you will return."

Edgar Guest's "Life's Slacker"

I decided it would be a good idea to post this. Guest is a guy I wished I was exposed to earlier that I was. He's a VERY cleaver writer. This story is no exception (taken from http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-s-slacker/)


Life's Slacker

by Edgar Guest

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.


That nothing men on earth would find


To mark the spot that you had filled;


That you must go and leave behind


No patch of soil your hands had tilled.






I know no greater shame than this:


To feel that yours were empty years;


That after death no man would miss


Your presence in this vale of tears;


That you had breathed the fragrant air


And sat by kindly fires that burn,


And in earth's riches had a share


But gave no labor in return.






Yet some men die this way, nor care:


They enter and they leave life's door


And at the end, their record's bare—


The world's no better than before.


A few false tears are shed, and then,


In busy service, they're forgot.


We have no time to mourn for men


Who lived on earth but served it not.






A man in perfect peace to die


Must leave some mark of toil behind,


Some building towering to the sky,


Some symbol that his heart was kind,


Some roadway where strange feet may tread


That out of gratitude he made;


He cannot bravely look ahead


Unless his debt to life is paid.

Edgar Guest "On Quitting"

The more I have read Edgar Guest, I ask WHY schools and motivational people aren't mention this guy more. If I would create an academic curriculum, this man's work would be in the list. I find myself encouraged and even challenged when I read his works. This poem is pretty relevant to life in general. In fact, why is it that more people don't discuss this man or his name doesn't come up more than it does is beyond me. At the rate I'm going, I might have to give Guest his own label. Enjoy.

Taken from http://www.poemhunter.com/.

"On Quitting"

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;
But can you tell to a jot or guess
Just how much courage you now possess?
You may stand to trouble and keep your grin,
But have you tackled self-discipline?
Have you ever issued commands to you
To quit the things that you like to do,
And then, when tempted and sorely swayed,
Those rigid orders have you obeyed?


Don't boast of your grit till you've tried it out,
Nor prate to men of your courage stout,
For it's easy enough to retain a grin
In the face of a fight there's a chance to win,
But the sort of grit that is good to own
Is the stuff you need when you're all alone.
How much grit do you think you've got?
Can you turn from joys that you like a lot?
Have you ever tested yourself to know
How far with yourself your will can go?
If you want to know if you have grit,
Just pick out a joy that you like, and quit.


It's bully sport and it's open fight;
It will keep you busy both day and night;
For the toughest kind of a game you'll find
Is to make your body obey your mind.
And you never will know what is meant by grit
Unless there's something you've tried to quit.

"My Creed" Edgar Guest

The more I have learned about Edgar Guest, the more impressed I am. This guy is so common sense and inspirational. I actually read some of his works a while back but onyl recently got reconnected with his works. I would encourage anyone to check this man and his works out.

"My Creed"

- Edgar A. Guest
(taken from http://www.wow4u.com/my-creed/index.html)



To live as gently as I can;


To be, no matter where, a man;


To take what comes of good or ill


And cling to faith and honor still;


To do my best, and let that stand


The record of my brain and hand;


And then, should failure come to me,


Still work and hope for victory.






To have no secret place wherein


I stoop unseen to shame or sin;


To be the same when I'm alone


As when my every deed is known


To live undaunted, unafraid


Of any step that I have made;


To be without pretense or sham


Exactly what men think I am.






To leave some simple mark behind


To keep my having lived in mind,


If enmity to aught I show,


To be an honest, generous foe,


To play my little part, nor whine


That greater honors are not mine.






This, I believe, is all I need


For my philosophy and creed.

More from Edgar Guest

The more I find out about this man, the more I'm starting to like him alot. Here are 3 more stories. Enjoy. Again taken from the Mary Morand's(Sofine's Joyfule Moments) Internet site. www.sofinesjoyfulmoments.com

"What Does a Baby Cost"

"How much do babies cost?" said he
The other night upon my knee;
And then I said: "They cost a lot;
A lot of watching by a cot,
A lot of sleepless hours and care,
A lot of heart-ache and despair,
A lot of fear and trying dread,
And sometimes many tears are shed
In payment for our babies small,
But every one is worth it all.

"For babies people have to pay
A heavy price from day to day --
There is no way to get one cheap.
Why, sometimes when they're fast asleep
You have to get up in the night
And go and see that they're all right.
But what they cost in constant care
And worry, does not half compare
With what they bring of joy and bliss --
You'd pay much more for just a kiss.

"Who buys a baby has to pay
A portion of the bill each day;
He has to give his time and thought
Unto the little one he's bought.
He has to stand a lot of pain
Inside his heart and not complain;
And pay with lonely days and sad
For all the happy hours he's had.
His smile is worth it all, you bet."

The Pefect Dinner Table

A tablecloth that's slightly soiled
Where greasy little hands have toiled;
The napkins kept in silver rings,
And only ordinary things
From which to eat, a simple fare,
And just the wife and kiddies there,
And while I serve, the clatter glad
Of little girl and little lad
Who have so very much to say
About the happenings of the day.

Four big round eyes that dance with glee,
Forever flashing joys at me,
Two little tongues that race and run
To tell of troubles and of fun;
The mother with a patient smile
Who knows that she must wait awhile
Before she'll get a chance to say
What she's discovered through the day.
She steps aside for girl and lad
Who have so much to tell their dad.

Our manners may not be the best;
Perhaps our elbows often rest
Upon the table, and at times
That very worst of dinner crimes,
That very shameful act and rude
Of speaking ere you've downed your food,
Too frequently, I fear, is done,
So fast the little voices run.
Yet why should table manners stay
Those tongues that have so much to say?

At many a table I have been
Where wealth and luxury were seen,
And I have dined in halls of pride
Where all the guests were dignified;
But when it comes to pleasure rare
The perfect dinner table's where
No stranger's face is ever known:
The dinner hour we spend alone,
When little girl and little lad
Run riot telling things to dad.

"The Weaver"

The patter of rain on the roof,
The glint of the sun on the rose;
Of life, these the warp and the woof,
The weaving that everyone knows.
Now grief with its consequent tear,
Now joy with its luminous smile;
The days are the threads of the year--
Is what I am weaving worth while?

What pattern have I on my loom?
Shall my bit of tapestry please?
Am I working with gray threads of gloom?
Is there faith in the figures I seize?
When my fingers are lifeless and cold,
And the threads I no longer can weave
Shall there be there for men to behold
One sign of the things I believe?

God sends me the gray days and rare,
The threads from his bountiful skein,
And many, as sunshine, are fair.
And some are as dark as the rain.
And I think as I toil to express
My life through the days slipping by,
Shall my tapestry prove a success?
What sort of weaver am I?

Am I making the most of the red
And the bright strands of luminous gold?
Or blotting them out with the thread
By which all men's failure is told?
Am I picturing life as despair,
As a thing men shall shudder to see,
Or weaving a bit that is fair
That shall stand as the record of me?

From: Just Folks by Edgar A. Guest
Copyright 1917 by The Reilly & Britton

Selected Works by Edgar Guest

I've been somewhat familiar with the name Edgar "Eddie" Guest (1881-1959). He was a poet in the early 20th century and has written some very fine works. Guest worked for the Detroit Press for 60 years, working his way up the reporter ranks. Of recent, I had seen a few of his works in "The Book of Vitures" and "The Moral Compass", edited by William J Bennett. Guest's work really caught my attention because it makes so much sense. His ability to write about different topics is priceless. His writing style may throw some people off. Guest, being born in England, seems to write as one from that era would write.

Below are just three examples. Enjoy.
I took these from the Internet site listed here- ().

- A Patriot's Creed (On Patriotism)

'"To serve my country day by day
At any humble post I may;
To honor and respect her flag,
To live the traits of which I brag;
To be American in deed
As well as in my printed creed.

To stand for truth and honest toil,
To till my little patch of soil,
And keep in mind the debt I owe
To them who died that I might know
My country, prosperous and free,
And passed this heritage to me.

I always must in trouble's hour
Be guided by the men in power;
For God and country I must live,
My best for God and country give;
No act of mine that men may scan
Must shame the name American.

To do my best and play my part,
American in mind and heart;
To serve the flag and bravely stand
To guard the glory of my land;
To be American in deed:
God grant me strength to keep this creed!"'

- Can't (On Character and Perseverance)

This should be shared with any kid or adult for that matter. This story was one story in "The Book of Virtues" and one I found very profound.

Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken;
Doing more harm here than slander and lies;
On it is many a strong spirit broken,
And with it many a good purpose dies.
It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning
And robs us of courage we need through the day;
It rings in our ears like a timely sent warning
And laughs when we falter and fall by the way.

Can't is the father of feeble endeavor,
The parent of terror and halfhearted work;
It weakens the efforts of artisans clever,
And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk.
It poisons the soul of the man with a vision,
It stifles in infancy many a plan;
It greets honest toiling with open derision
And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man.

Can't is a word none should speak without blushing;
To utter it should be a symbol of shame;
Ambition and courage it daily is crushing;
It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim.
Despise it with all of your hatred of error;
Refuse it the lodgement it seeks in your brain;
Arm against it as a creature of terror,
And all that you dream of you someday shall gain.

Can't is the word that is foe to ambition
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and skill.
Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying,
For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man;
Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
And answer this demon by saying: "I can."'

- Faith (the title says it all)

'This much I know:
God does not wrong us here,
Though oft His judgments seem severe
And reason falters 'neath the blow,
Some day we'll learn 'twas better so.

So oft I've erred
In trifling matters of my own concern;
So oft I've blundered at the simplest turn,
Chosen the false path or the foolish word
That what I call my judgment seems absurd.

My puny reason cries
Against the bitter and the cruel blows,
Measuring the large world by the inch it knows,
Seeing all joy and pain through selfish eyes,
Not knowing hurt and suffering may be wise.

But I have come to see,
So vast God's love, so infinite His plan
That it is well it was not left to man
To alter or to say what is to be,
When reason failed, faith also then would flee.

God knoweth best!
Through the black night and agony of grief
Faith whispers low: "Hold fast to your belief!
In time His purpose He shall manifest,
Then shall you learn how greatly you were blest."'