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Poem by Eugene Gladstone O'Neill A Regular Sort of a Guy He fights where the fighting is thickest And keeps his high honor clean; From finish to start, he is sturdy of heart, Shunning the petty and mean; With his friends in their travail and sorrow, He is ever there to stand by, And hark to their plea, for they all know that he Is a regular sort of a guy. He cheers up the sinner repentant And sets him again on his feet; He is there with a slap, and a pat on the back, For the lowliest bum on the street; He smiles when the going is hardest, With a spirit no money can buy; And take it from me, we all love him 'cause he Is a regular sort of a guy. I don't care for the praise of the nations, Or a niche in the great hall of fame, Or that posterity should remember me When my dust and the dust are the same; But my soul will be glad if my friends say As they turn from my bier with a sigh "Though he left no great name, yet he played out the game Like a regular sort of a guy." Eugene Gladstone O'Neill Eugene Gladstone O'Neill's other poems:
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