36
POEMS.
No! the kind word, the friendship true,
That change doth never know;
Though the cold breath of Poverty
Upon a friend may blow.
That change doth never know;
Though the cold breath of Poverty
Upon a friend may blow.
The ready hand stretched forth to raise
The crushed, yet erring one;
The lips that dare to speak of wrong
When worth lies trampled on;
These, tho' but slight their pow'r appears,
Peace to the soul may bring,
And heal a wound when gold could give
No balm to suffering.
The crushed, yet erring one;
The lips that dare to speak of wrong
When worth lies trampled on;
These, tho' but slight their pow'r appears,
Peace to the soul may bring,
And heal a wound when gold could give
No balm to suffering.
And since such humble deeds may call
A blessing on our path,
Why seek we still where happiness
Its dwelling never hath?
Let us not reach the stately bough
That waveth far on high,
But stoop to pluck the velvet moss
That at our feet doth lie.
H. A.
A blessing on our path,
Why seek we still where happiness
Its dwelling never hath?
Let us not reach the stately bough
That waveth far on high,
But stoop to pluck the velvet moss
That at our feet doth lie.
H. A.
