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.

More verses by Jean Blewett