I know thee not, and yet I fain
Would call thee brother, friend;
I know that friendship, virtue, truth,
All in thy nature blend.

I know by thee the formal bow,
The half deceitful smile
Are valued not; they ill become
The man that's free from guile.

I know thee not, and yet my breast
Thrills ever at thy song,
And bleeds to know, that thou hast felt
The weight of 'woe and wrong.'

'Tis said the soul with care opprest
Grows patient 'neath the weight,
And after years can bear it well
E'en though the load be great.

And, that the heart oft stung by grief
Is senseless to the pain,
And bleeding bares it to the barb,
To bid it strike again.

I care not if the heart has borne
All that the world can give,
Of 'disappointment, hate and scorn;'
In hope 'twill ever live,

And feel the barb'd and poison'd stings
Of anguish, grief and care,
As keenly as in years gone by,
When first they entered there.

The weary soul by care opprest
May utter no complaints,
But loaths the weight it cannot bear
And weakens till it faints.