Julia A. Moore

The Sweet Singer of Michigan


Come all you friends and critics,
      And listen to my song,
A word I will say to you,
      It will not take me long,
The people talks about me,
      They've nothing else to do
But to criticise their neighbors,
      And they have me now in view.

Perhaps they talk for meanness,
      And perhaps it is in jest,
If they leave out their freeness
      It would suit me now the best,
To keep the good old maxim
      I find it hard to do,
That is to do to others
      As you wish them do to you.

Perhaps you've read the papers
      Containing my interview;
I hope you kind good people
      Will not believe it true.
Some Editors of the papers
      They thought it would be wise
To write a column about me,
      So they filled it up with lies.

The papers have ridiculed me
      A year and a half or more.
Such slander as the interview
      I never read before.
Some reporters and editors
      Are versed in telling lies.
Others it seems are willing
      To let industry rise.

The people of good judgment
      Will read the papers through,
And not rely on its truth
      Without a candid view.
My first attempt at literature
      Is the "Sweet Singer" by name,
I wrote that book without a thought
      Of the future, or of fame.

Dear Friends, I write for money,
      With a kind heart and hand,
I wish to make no Enemies
      Throughout my native land.
Kind friends, now I close my rhyme,
      And lay my pen aside,
Between me and my critics
      I leave you to decide.

Reprinted from The Sweet Singer of Michigan: Poems by Mrs. Julia A. Moore ,
ed. Walter Blair (Chicago: Pascal Covici, 1928).
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