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Friendship by Joseph Warren Watson

I thank thee for they kindly smile!
The pressure of the hand.
I’d not exchange for all the gold;
Mid Africa’s burning sand.
Were all our race like thee, dear friend,
Hate’s fires would ne’er awake; The sensitive would feel no pangs -
Fond hearts would cease to ache.

... The undeserved, malicious slight,
And haughty, scornful glance,
Sometimes inflict a deeper wound
Than does the warrior’s lance.
Oh, turn not from God’s lowly ones
With cold and stately tone; Be not the first to cry them down,
Nor last their worth to own!

Should those whom you fully trust
Prove fickle and untrue,
Then only cherish all the more
The precious, constant few
Who soothe your pathway to the goal
At which life’s journey ends, And hope to meet them in the world
Where all mankind are friends!