9 Famous Poems About Family

Families are a part of all of our lives and with whom we have a special bond with. Let these famous poems about family remind you of the importance they play in your life. These famous poets have definite thoughts on the role and the impact of our family.

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  1. A Boy and His Dad
    Poet: Edgar A. Guest

    A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip—
    There is a glorious fellowship!
    Father and son and the open sky
    And the white clouds lazily drifting by,
    And the laughing stream as it runs along
    With the clicking reel like a martial song,
    And the father teaching the youngster gay
    How to land a fish in the sportsman's way. . . .

  2. Your Brother
    Poet: Daniel C. Colesworthy

    Turn not from your brother
    Who strangely has err'd,
    Nor speak as in anger
    A harsh, bitter word:
    In kindness approach him —
    With tenderness speak —
    If vic'ous, be gentle —
    Support him, if weak. . . .

  3. A Happy Home
    Poet: J.J. Thorne

    Caution is the parent of safety,
    It keeps us from going astray
    It will make a happy home,
    In some future day. . . .

  4. Rich
    Poet: Strickland Gillilan

    I knew he toiled for a modest wage,
    As living costs in the present age.
    And I asked myself, in accents grim:
    "What can existence hold for him?" . . . .

  5. Appreciate and love them For a family truly is a gem!
    Short Family Quotes

  6. The Stick-Together Families
    Poet: Edgar A. Guest

    The stick-together families are happier by far
    Than the brothers and the sisters who take separate highways are.
    The gladdest people living are the wholesome folks who make
    A circle at the fireside that no power but death can break.
    And the finest of conventions ever held beneath the sun
    Are the little family gatherings when the busy day is done.

    There are rich folk, there are poor folk, who imagine they are wise,
    And they're very quick to shatter all the little family ties.
    Each goes searching after pleasure in his own selected way,
    Each with strangers likes to wander, and with strangers likes to play.
    But it's bitterness they harvest, and it's empty joy they find,
    For the children that are wisest are the stick-together kind.

    There are some who seem to fancy that for gladness they must roam,
    That for smiles that are the brightest they must wander far from home.
    That the strange friend is the true friend, and they travel far astray
    they waste their lives in striving for a joy that's far away,
    But the gladdest sort of people, when the busy day is done,
    Are the brothers and the sisters who together share their fun.

    It's the stick-together family that wins the joys of earth,
    That hears the sweetest music and that finds the finest mirth;
    It's the old home roof that shelters all the charm that life can give;
    There you find the gladdest play-ground, there the happiest spot to live.
    And, O weary, wandering brother, if contentment you would win,
    Come you back unto the fireside and be comrade with your kin.

  7. Family Court
    Poet: Ogden Nash

    One would be in less danger
    From the wiles of a stranger
    If one's own kin and kith
    Were more fun to be with.

  8. Read this poem and think about the words you say to your family. The point is we are sometimes more thoughtful of the words we speak with strangers than we are with our own family.

  9. Our Own
    Poet: Margaret Sangster

    If I had known in the morning
    How wearily all the day
    The word, unkind,
    Would trouble my mind
    I said when you went away,
    I had been more careful, darling,
    Nor given you needless pain;
    But we vex "our own"
    With look and tone
    We might never take back again.

    For though in the quiet evening
    You may give me the kiss of peace.
    Yet it might be
    That never for me
    The 'pain of the heart would cease.
    How many go forth in the morning
    That never come home at night,
    And hearts have broken
    For harsh words spoken
    That sorrow can near set right.

    We have careful thought for the stranger.
    And smiles for the sometime guest.
    But oft for "our own"
    The hitter tone.
    Though we love "our own" the best.
    Ah! lips with the curve impatient,
    Ah! brow with the look of scorn,
    T'were a cruel fate
    Were the night too late
    To undo the work of the morn.

  10. The Family's Homely Man
    Poet: Edgar A. Guest

    There never was a family without its homely man,
    With legs a little longer than the ordinary plan,
    An' a shock of hair that brush an' comb can't ever straighten out,
    An' hands that somehow never seem to know what they're about;
    The one with freckled features and a nose that looks as though
    It was fashioned by the youngsters from a chunk of mother's dough.
    You know the man I'm thinking of, the homely one an' plain,
    That fairly oozes kindness like a rosebush dripping rain.
    His face is never much to see, but back of it there lies
    A heap of love and tenderness and judgment, sound and wise.

    And so I sing the homely man that's sittin' in his chair,
    And pray that every family will always have him there.
    For looks don't count for much on earth; it's hearts that wear the gold;
    An' only that is ugly which is selfish, cruel, cold.
    The family needs him, Oh, so much; more, maybe, than they know;
    Folks seldom guess a man's real worth until he has to go,
    But they will miss a heap of love an' tenderness the day
    God beckons to their homely man, an' he must go away.

    He's found in every family, it doesn't matter where
    They live or be they rich or poor, the homely man is there.
    You'll find him sitting quiet-like and sort of drawn apart,
    As though he felt he shouldn't be where folks are fine an' smart.
    He likes to hide himself away, a watcher of the fun,
    An' seldom takes a leading part when any game's begun.
    But when there's any task to do, like need for extra chairs,
    I've noticed it's the homely man that always climbs the stairs.

    And always it's the homely man that happens in to mend
    The little toys the youngsters break, for he's the children's friend.
    And he's the one that sits all night to watch beside the dead,
    And sends the worn-out sorrowers and broken hearts to bed.
    The family wouldn't be complete without him night or day,
    To smooth the little troubles out and drive the cares away.

  11. The Family Meeting
    Poet: Charles Spraque

    We are all here,
    Father, mother,
    Sister, brother.
    All who hold each other dear.
    Each chair is filled; we're all at home!
    Tonight let no cold stranger come.
    It is not often thus around
    Our old familiar hearth we're found.
    Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;
    For once be every care forgot;
    Let gentle Peace assert her power.
    And kind Affection rule the hour.
    We're all - all here.

    We are all here.
    Father, mother.
    Sister, brother,
    You that I love with love so dear.
    This may not long of us be said;
    Soon must we join the gathered dead,
    And by the hearth we now at round
    Some other circle will be found.
    Oh, then, that wisdom may we know,
    Which yields a life of peace below!
    So, in the world to follow this,
    May each repeat in words of bliss,
    We're all - all here!

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