When on the crowded thoroughfare,
Amidst the motley throng I stray,
In all the stranger faces there,
I meet and pass from day to day,
Whether the face be young, or old,
Or wreathed in smiles, or calm, or cold,
On every brow I trace some line
That links the strangers' heart to mine.
Though a proud beauty rustles by,
With haughty mien, I smile and say,
"You have a heart-ache—so have I:
We both are hiding it to-day.
Though you are rich, I am poor,
We both have entered sorrow's door;
Grief comes alike to you and me,
So we are of one family."
The richest nabob that I meet,
The poorest delver that I see,
Youth and old age upon the street,
Are one and all the same to me.
No heart that beats, but has its grief;
Nor wealth, nor youth, gives full relief;
And through the tears that sometimes fall
I claim relationship to all.
So poor, and rich, and high, and low,
I meet upon this common plain.
Though far and wide our paths may lie,
We entertain the same guest—Pain.
The subtle threads of this strange cord,
Draw me to mankind, and the Lord,
And through the sorrows heaven sends,
I hold all men to be my friends.
1869