  Do not say that the world is cold, The world is a glorious place, And friends are the same as of old For each has a generous face. It is only ourselves that have changed, The present eclipses the past, And we are too early estranged From the love which endures to the last. This pride, is it never to blame? Is the word so easy to speak Withheld, while we barter for fame The life we are yearning to seek? 'Mid the desolate tracks of the soul, Full oft an oasis is hid By turning aside from the goal, Or the too sudden droop of a lid. Alas! as we go on alone, How little we value the cost Of sacrifice, save for our own, In the joy another has lost. Should we pause to consider the heart, And fathom the depth of its grief, No power could keep us apart, Though the parting were never so brief. It is ours to bask if we will Within the bright sunlight of truth: To sip of the cup which we fill In the fair, sweet morning of youth. And our friends, they are ever our own To comfort, to cherish, sustain; Though often the care is unknown, 'Tis enough if we banish the pain. Enough, when we give of our best, A brother is cheered on his way; Enough, if the weary may rest 'Mid the fervid heat of the day. 'Tis enough if the burden we bear But eases the load of a friend; Enough, if the burden we share, |
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