To have the sure esteem
Of those whose worth we know,
The heart will oft redeem
From many a doubtful throe;
The anxious soul declares
Some good must be in us,
Or, by such souls as theirs
We were not valued thus.
When brimming cups go round,
When friendly faces meet,
Where jest and smile abound,
Oh, if we there may meet
Such long-tried friend of years
To share with us the wine—
’Tis nectar then—and cheers
With influence divine!
Or, if oppress’d with care
Or sickness, low we lie,
What med’cine can compare
With friendship’s love-lit eye?
One fond plain English word
More cheers our suffering man
Than all the pomp absurd
Of doctor’s Latin can.
Oh, bliss how bright, how rare,
Where friend like this appears,
With smiles our joy to share,
Or share our grief with tears:
To have this, is to win
From out our earthly strife
The brightest jewel in
That crown of thorns—called life!