If every one was now compelled
To show life in true attire,
They'd cause the picture to be marred
And cast into the fire.
They'd blush with shame to bring to light
Black spots upon their life;
They kick, and squirm, and twist about,
And fight it with a strife.
Where is the man on this vile earth
But what has done some wrong,
And in his mind's concealed it,
Tho' it stings him like a thong?
There ne'er was one except the Christ
Who'd be perfect in the land!
But there's one thing safe to wager on,
"That mind's the standard of the Man."
What if all conscience could be searched
Clear through with cathode rays,