WHERE TWO OR THREE
Oh, all the world is sick with hate,
And who shall heal it, friend o' mine?
And who is friend? And who shall stand
Since hireling tongue and alien hand
Kill nobleness in all this land?
Judas and Pharisee combine
To plunder and proclaim it Fate.
Days when the upright dared be few
Are they departed, friend o' mine?
Are bribery and rich largesse
Fair props for fat forgetfulness,
Or anodynous of distress?
Oh, would the world were drunk with wine
And not this last besotting brew!
Oh, for the wonderful again—
The greatly daring, friend o' mine!
The simply gallant blade unbought.
The soul compassionate, unsought.
With no price but the priceless thought
Nor purpose than the brave design
Of giving that the world may gain!
