Rhymes of Childhood, by Edgar A. Guest.

by Edgar A. Guest (Creator)

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. To ensure a quality reading experience, this work has been proofread and republished using a format that seamlessly blends the original graphical elements with text in an easy-to-read typeface. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

Genres: Poetry

200 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1924

About the author

The family of Edgar Albert Guest settled in Detroit, Michigan, in 1891. When his father lost his job in 1893, eleven-year-old Edgar between working odd jobs after school. In 1895, the Detroit Free Press hired him as a copy boy, and he worked for the newspaper for almost sixty-five years. Death of the father compelled the seventeen-year-old poet to drop out high school and to work full time at the newspaper. From copy boy, he worked his way to a job in the news department. His first poem appeared on 11 December 1898. His weekly column, "Chaff," first appeared in 1904; his topical verses eventually became the daily "Breakfast Table Chat," which was syndicated to over three-hundred newspapers throughout the United States.

Guest married Nellie Crossman in 1906. The couple had three children. His brother Harry printed his first two books, Home Rhymes and Just Glad Things, in small editions. His verse quickly found an audience and the Chicago firm of Reilly and Britton began to publish his books at a rate of nearly one per year. His collections include Just Folks (1917), Over Here (1918), When Day Is Done (1921), The Passing Throng (1923), Harbor Lights of Home (1928), and Today and Tomorrow (1942).

From 1931 to 1942, Guest broadcast a weekly program on NBC radio. In 1951, "A Guest in Your Home" appeared on NBC TV. He published more than twenty volumes of poetry and was thought to have written over 11,000 poems. Guest has been called "the poet of the people." Most often, his poems were fourteen lines long and presented a deeply sentimental view of everyday life. He considered himself "a newspaper man who wrote verses." Of his poem he said, "I take simple everyday things that happen to me and I figure it happens to a lot of other people and I make simple rhymes out of them." His Collected Verse appeared in 1934 and went into at least eleven editions.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/...

Reviews

[Craig · Rating 5 out of 5]

Published in 1924, Rhymes of Childhood by Edgar A. Guest is a compilation of his poems centered on the home and family life and relationships. An original volume was given to my parents in 1950 by my maternal grandparents. I inherited the tome from my "mom". While many of Guest's recollections are of a bygone era, they still strike a familiar chord. Though I found many of these short rhymes to be sing-songy and mundane, others were very touching and produced in me a pang, or a sigh, and always a chuckle. Space does not permit a large sampling, but I have included three of my favorites below:

Being Brave at Night

The other night 'bout two o'clock, or maybe it was three,
An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me.
His trunk was wavin' in the air an' spoutin' jets of steam
An' he was out to eat me up, but still I didn't scream
Or let him see that I was scared - a better thought I had,
I just escaped from where I was an' crawled in bed with dad.

One time there was a giant who was horrible to see,
He had three heads an' twenty arms, an' he come after me
An' red hot fire came from his mouths an' every hand was red
An' he declared he'd grind my bones an' make them into bread.
But I was just too smart for him, I fooled him mighty bad,
Before his hands could collar me I crawled in bed with dad.

I ain't scared of nothing that comes pesterin' me at night.
Once I was chased by forty ghosts all shimmery an' white,
An' I just raced 'em round the room an' let 'em think maybe
I'd have to stop an' rest awhile, when they could capture me.
Then when they leapt onto my bed, Oh Gee! but they were mad
To find that I had slipped away an' crawled in bed with dad.

No giants, ghosts or elephants have dared to come in there
'Coz if they did he'd beat 'em up and chase 'em to their lair.
They just hang 'round the children's rooms an' snap an' snarl an' bite
An' laugh if they can make 'em yell for help with all their might,
But I don't ever yell out loud. I'm not that sort of lad,
I slip from out the covers an' I crawl in bed with dad.


Grandpa

My grandpa is the finest man
Excep' my pa. My grandpa can
Make kites and carts and lots of things
You pull along the ground with strings,
And he knows all the names of birds,
And how they call 'thought using words,
And where they live and what they eat,
And how they build their nests so neat.
He's lots of fun! Sometimes all day
He comes to visit me and play.
You see he's getting old, and so
To work he doesn't have to go,
And when it isn't raining, he
Drops in to have some fun with me.

He takes my hand and we go out
And everything we talk about.
He tells me how God makes the trees,
And why it hurts to pick up bees.
Sometimes he stops and show to me
The place where fairies used to be;
And then he tells me stories, too.
And I am sorry when he's through.
When I am asking him for more
He says: "Why, there's a candy store!
Let's us go there and see if they
Have got the kind we like to-day."
Then when we get back home my ma
Says: "you are spoiling Buddy, Pa."

My grandpa is my mother's pa,
I guess that's what all grandpas are.
And sometimes ma, all smiles, will say:
"You didn't always act that way.
When I was little, then you said
That children should be sent to bed
And not allowed to rule the place
And lead old folks a merry chase."
And grandpa laughs and says: "That's true,
That's what I used to say to you.
It is a father's place to show
The young the way that they should go,
But grandpas have a different task,
Which is to get them all they ask."

This last poem was very touching, and my favorite:

When a Little Baby Dies

When a little baby dies
And the wee form silent lies,
And the little cheeks seem waxen
And the little hands are still,
Then your soul gives way to treason,
And you cry: "O, God, what reason,
O, what justice and what mercy
Have You shown us by Your will?

"Oh, there are so many here
Of the yellow leaf and sere,
Who are anxious, aye, and ready
To respond unto Your call;
Yet You pass them by unheeding,
And You set our hearts to bleeding!
Oh how bitterly upon us
Do Your vaunted mercies fall!"

Yet some day, in after years,
When Death's angel once more nears,
And the unknown, silent river
Looms as darkly as a pall,
You will hear your baby saying,
"Mamma, come to me, I'm staying
With my arms outstretched to greet you,"
And you'll understand it all.

Guest's poetical style is simple, rhythmic; generally, the last word in each two consecutive lines rhymes. It is folksy, homespun and very much American in its theme and style. While not employing the lofty prose of other poetic luminaries, I very much enjoyed these touching rhymes of Edgar A. Guest written of America's heartland.