Tag Archives: Edgar Albert Guest

The Little Home

Diane's Cottage, Beaumont le Roger. Louis Aston Knight.
Diane’s Cottage, Beaumont le Roger. Louis Aston Knight.


The Little Home

Edgar Albert Guest


The little house is not too small

To shelter friends who come to call.

Though low the roof and small its space

It holds the Lord’s abounding grace,

And every single room may be

Endowed with  happy memory.


The little house, severely plain,

A wealth of beauty may contain.

Within it those who dwell may find

High faith which makes for peace of mind,

And that sweet understanding which

Can make the poorest cottage rich.


The little house can hold all things

From which the soul’s contentment springs.

‘Tis not too small for love to grow,

For all the joys that mortals know,

For mirth and song and that delight

Which makes the humblest dwelling bright.


Even the plainest house can be beautiful, and the tiniest home can have a very big heart. Even  if your rooms are small, keep the doors open wide! Love and happiness can find plenty of space to grow and flourish.

Results or Roses

Choosing. George Frederick Watts.
Choosing. George Frederick Watts.


Results or Roses

Edgar Albert Guest

The man who was a garden fair,

Or small or very big,

With flowers growing here or there,

Must bend his back and dig.


The things are mighty few on earth

That wishes can attain.

Whate’er we want of any worth

We’ve got to work to gain.


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.


This poem by Edgar Albert Guest is a reminder of the connection between work and wonderful. Nothing in this world worth having comes easily, but requires hard and diligent work.


One of the Family. Frederick Cotman. 1880.



Edgar Albert Guest (1881-1959)


Some people, when they sit to eat,

Prefer to see the table neat.

They want the linen spotless white,

The glasses dazzling in the light,

The silverware in trim array,

But, as for me, I often say,

Give me glad childhood’s table-cloth

Well-stained with jelly, milk and broth.


Not long in peace could I abide

In houses cold with pomp and pride,

Or dwell where dignity commands

Precision’s care from little hands.

I much prefer the happier place

Illumined by a smiling face,

The dining room where soon I know

A glass of milk will over go.


Be mine the room with laughter filled,

Where no one frets o’er what is spilled.

For what are table-cloths that they

Should drive all merriment away,

And why think accidents a crime,

Especially at dinner time?

They gather sorrows for their pains

Who make too much of jelly-stains.


I should not always like to dine

Where silverware and glasses shine

And linen white outlasts the meal;

Too sad and lonely I should feel.

In table-cloths I take no pride,

I want the children at my side.

My joy is in those splotches red

When jelly dances from the bread.