From Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Guest:
Edgar Albert Guest (August 20, 1881, Birmingham, England – August 5, 1959, Detroit, Michigan) (aka Eddie Guest) was a prolific American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th Century and became known as the People’s Poet.
The poet authored 25 books from 1920 to 1927. In the interests of full disclosure, I confess that whenever I want to express my feelings and my words fail me, regardless of the subject, I will cheerfully and respectfully, without hesitation or remorse, use the words of another to convey my thoughts, with due credit being given, of course, to the other person.
Edgar Guest authored 25 books from 1920 to 1927. The poem which follows is from his All That Matters, published in 1922. I find it amazing that some 87 years ago someone could express so eloquently how we feel about our children and how proud we are of them. This posting is an effort to let our three daughters know how much we love them and how proud we are of them and their families. And perhaps any parent or parents that view the posting may choose to allow Edgar Guest to speak for them. The image below faced the poem—it’s reproduced from a painting by Robert E. Johnston—this is the then part of the above title.
WHEN THE YOUNG ARE GROWN
Once the house was lovely, but it’s lonely here today,
For time has come an’ stained its walls an’ called the young away;
An’ all that’s left for mother an’ for me till life is through,
Is to sit an’ tell each other what the children used to do.
We couldn’t keep ‘em always an’ we knew it from the start;
We knew when they were babies that some day we’d have to part.
But the years go by so swiftly, an’ the littlest one has flown,
An there’s only me an’ mother now left here to live alone.
Oh, there’s just one consolation, as we’re sittin’ here at night,
They’ve grown to men an’ women, an’ we brought ‘em up all right;
We’ve watched ‘em as we’ve loved ‘em an’ they’re splendid, every one,
An’ we feel the Lord won’t blame us for the way our work was done.
They’re clean, an’ kind an’ honest, an’ the world respects ‘em, too;
That’s the dream of parents always, an’ our dreams have all come true.
So although the house is lonely an’ sometimes our eyes grow wet,
We are proud of them an’ happy an’ we’ve nothing to regret.
And this is the now part of the title— it’s a recent photo of our children’s parents, and is included to show viewers how little—or perhaps how much, depending on the viewer—we resemble the parents in Edgar Guest’s poem.