A Real Man
 

      Men are of two kinds, and he
      Was of the kind I'd like to be
      Some preach their virtues, and a few
      Express their lives by what they do.
      That sort was he. No flowery phrase
      Or glibly spoken words of praise
      Won friends for him. He wasn't cheap
      Or shallow, but his course ran deep,
      And it was pure. You know the kind.
      Not many in a life you find
      Whose deeds outrun their words so far
      That more than what they seem they are.
      There are two kinds of lies as well:
      The kind you live, the ones you tell.
      Back through his years from age to youth
      He never acted one untruth.
      Out in the open light he fought
      And didn't care what others thought
      Nor what they said about his fight
      If he believed that he was right.
      The only deeds he ever hid
      Were acts of kindness that he did.
      What speech he had was plain and blunt.
      His was an unattractive front.
      Yet children loved him; babe and boy
      Played with the strength he could employ,
      Without one fear, and they are fleet
      To dense injustice and deceit.
      No back door gossip linked his name
      With any shady tale of shame.
      He did not have to compromise
      With evil-doers, shrewd and wise,
      And let them ply their vicious trade
      Because of some past escapade.
      Men are of two kinds, and he
      Was of the kind I'd like to be.
      No door at which he ever knocked
      Against his manly from was locked.
      If ever man on earth was free
      And independent, it was he.
      No broken pledge lost him respect,
      He met all men with head erect,
      And when he passes I think there will be sent
      A soul to yonder firmament
      So white, so splendid and so fine
      It [comes] almost to God's design.

      Edgar A. Guest, A Heap o' Livin'