From the Rock Island Argus, April 6, 1914.
The robin that sings in the morning glow
A song that’s full of glee
May be fretting some sad soul here below
With the song that is sweet to me;
The roisterer who, care free, last night
Went reveling late and long
May rail at the robin that gives delight
To me with his matin song.
But little, I think, does the robin care
For the hate of the one that lies
With a heavy heart on his bed up there
And rubs at his bloodshot eyes.
And why should you, as you strive away,
Be chilled by the sneering few?
We can’t please all with the things we say
Or the things that we sing or do.