FRIEND OR FOE?
There's a man I know— A likeable man— Whom you meanly wound Whenever you can, Remark with malice His task is done ill, He's poor of judgment And weak of will. I implore you, now, As that poor man's friend, Let persecution Have speediest end.
Cease taunting the man With blunders he makes, Cease harping alway On wrongs and mistakes. Come, be his good friend— Hail fellow, well met— His failures forgive, And his faults forget. Who is the man you've Discouraged and blamed? The man is yourself— Are you not ashamed?
For faults of the past Make ample amends, And you and yourself Be the best of friends.
THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD.
O the hills of purple heather, And the skies so warm and gray! O the shimmer of the sea-mist In the sea-wind far away! O the calling of the torrent, Sweeping down Ben Vorlich's side, And my white flocks faring foldward In the hush of eventide!