We have no right to judge a man
Until he's fairly tried;

Should we not like his company,

We know the world is wide.

Some may have faults-ah, who has not?
The old as well as young;

Perhaps we may, for aught we know,
Have fifty to his one.

I'll tell you of a better plan,—
I find it works quite well;
I try my own defects to cure
Ere I of others' tell;

And, though I sometimes hope to be
No worse than some I know,
My own shortcomings bid me let
The faults of others go.

Then let us all, when we commence
To slander friend or foe,
Think of the harm that we may do
To those we little know.
Remember, curses sometimes, like
Our chickens, roost at home ";
Don't speak of others' faults until
You have none of your own.

66

ANONYMOUS

208

A GOOD RULE

If you are tempted to reveal
A tale someone to you has told
About another, may it pass,

Before you speak, three gates of gold.

Three narrow gates-first, "Is it true?"
Then, "Is it needful?" In your mind
Give truthful answer; and the next
Is last and narrowest, "Is it kind?"

And if to reach your lips at last

It passes through these gateways three, Then you may tell the tale, nor fear What the result of speech may be.

ANONYMOUS

209

SPEAK NO ILL

Nay, speak no ill!—a kindly word
Can never leave a sting behind,
And oh! to breathe each tale we've heard
Is far beneath a noble mind.
Full oft a better seed is sown

By choosing thus the kinder plan;
For, if but little good be known,

Still let us speak the best we can.

Give me the heart that fain would hide-
Would fain another's fault efface;
How can it pleasure human pride
To prove humanity but base?
No; let us reach a higher mood,
A nobler estimate of man;
Be earnest in the search for good,
And speak of all the best we can.

Then speak no ill-but lenient be
To others' failings as your own;
If you're the first a fault to see,

Be not the first to make it known.
For life is but a passing day,

No lip can tell how brief its span;
Then, oh, the little time we stay,
Let's speak of all the best we can.

CHARLES SWAIN

210

LITTLE AT FIRST, BUT GREAT AT LAST

A traveller, through a dusty road,

Strew'd acorns on the lea;

And one took root, and sprouted up,

And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening time,

To breathe its early vows,

And Age was pleased, in heats of noons,
To bask beneath its boughs.

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,

The birds sweet music bore;

It stood a glory in its place,

A blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scoop'd a well,
Where weary men might turn;
He wall'd it in, and hung with care
A ladle at the brink,-

He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.
He pass'd again, and lo! the well,
By summers never dried,

Had cool'd ten thousand parching tongues,
And saved a life beside.

A dreamer dropped a random thought, 'Twas old and yet 'twas new,—

A simple fancy of the brain,

But strong in being true;
It shone upon a genial mind,
And lo! its light became
A lamp of life, a beacon ray,
A monitory flame.

The thought was small-its issue great:

A watch-fire on the hill,

It sheds its radiance far adown,

And cheers the valley still.

A nameless man, amid a crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of Hope and Love,
Unstudied from the heart;
A whisper on the tumult thrown—
A transitory breath—

It raised a brother from the dust,

It saved a soul from death.

O germ! O fount! O word of Love!
O thought at random cast!

Ye were but little at the first,

But mighty at the last!

Of happiness below;

But little acts of kindliness

Which any child may show.

A merry sound to cheer the babe,

And tell a friend is near;

A word of ready sympathy
To dry the childish tear.

A glass of water timely brought;
An offered easy-chair;

A turning of the window-blind,
That all may feel the air.