I leaned upon my elbow there And wondered did I dream or not? But once again upon the air The call came from her tiny cot! Then peacefully I turned and smiled To hear the crying of our child. Lonely and still the house has seemed For ten long years, but once again We have the joy of which we'd dreamed-- The joy which many seek in vain! Oh, happy, happy home, thought I, That wakes to hear a baby cry. _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. There is no sadness but is sweet With fragrance, and there is no day But spreads some beauty on life's way; The dusty and the weary feet Upon their homeward journey bring Delights which loving hearts may sing. The high chair and the cradle, too, Have ever set brave lips to song; No grief has ever lived so long But turned to music as it grew, And every hour of strife and pain Leaves in the heart some sweet refrain. Lord, teach me this, from day to day, To find beyond the hurt and care Thy mercy shining everywhere; Let me rejoice that children play, And know when bitter tempests sting There is a song in everything. _Triumph_ Back of every golden dream. Every engine hissing steam, Back of every hammer falling And of every deed men dare; Back of every tilt and fight Is the coming home at night To the loved ones who are waiting In the victory to share.