The True Critic
There is one critic which a man should heed
And strive with all his strength to satisfy;
Whether it be in big or little deed,
One sits in judgment with a watchful eye.
One voice there is which flatters not for gain
Nor censures honest effort as a pose,
One voice which never speaks to cause us pain,
Nor seeks to tell the world how much it knows.
Yet if it tell us we have done our best,
Have kept the faith and labored to be true,
We can lie down at night in peace to rest
Nor mind what others say or think or do.
If but this eye which reads our inmost thought
See no dishonor in the stand we take,
If but this voice can praise the fight we've fought,
We need not heed the storm that critics make.
If we but live with Conscience as our guide,
We rob the colder critics of their sting;
If but that voice of us can speak in pride,
We need not heed the barbs which others fling.
If it can say we've truly done our best,
And call our motives worthy, though we fail,
We then can turn our faces to the west,
Scorning the lesser critics who assail.
A Song in Everything
There is a song in everything,
In every little care that comes,
In babies as they suck their thumbs,
The tunes the brave canaries sing,
The mother's patient, gentle smile,
The glory of the after-while.