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FRIENDSHIP

by Pierre Jean De Beranger

Translated from the French by Henry Carrington

LOVE on roses sweetly sleeps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

Love, the tyrant, makes to flow
Tears which when he will he dries;
On the chain fresh weight will throw,
To share the burden Friendship tries.

Love on roses sweetly sleeps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

When late amid our hundred gaols
My muse had found the patriot's fate,
Scarce was she barred within the rails,
Friendship came rapping at the gate.

Love on roses sweetly sleeps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

Thrice happy, who when freed from chains,
And hate, and pity's helpless sigh
Forgotten; thinks how 'mid his pains
Friendship stood undaunted by.

Love on roses sweetly sleeps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

Friends, what is fame to him who's bent
'Neath tyranny? Let's quit renown,
Forego the marble monument
And pillowed sleep on couch of down.

Love on roses sweetly sleeps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

In safe seclusion let us meet,
And laugh at winter's wasting touch;
I think e'en Time he may defeat,
Who's got from out the gaoler's clutch.

Love on roses sweetly slecps,
But when storms their peril pour,
Hail to Friendship, she who keeps
Vigil at the prison door!

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND

by George Gordon Byron

FEW years have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood's gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same.

But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.

If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.

As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide,
Where stormy passions ever glow?

It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.

And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sign a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.

Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.

Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate by rule.

With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.

Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?

No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been,
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.

Alas! whenever folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet
(For cherish'd first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet),

Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain, and court the proud.

There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?

In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;
Be something, any thing, but -- mean.

SILENCE

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

'T IS better to sit here beside the sea,
Here on the spray-kissed beach,
In silence, that between such friends as we
Is full of deepest speech.

FRIENDSHIP

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

A RUDDY drop of manly blood
The surging sea outweighs;
The world uncertain comes and goes,
The lover rooted stays.
I fancied he was fled, --
And, after many a year,
Glowed uxexhausted kindliness,
Like daily sunrise there.
My careful heart was free again;
O friend, my bosom said,
Through thee alone the sky is arched,
Through thee the rose is red;
All things through thee take nobler form,
And look beyond the earth;
The mill-round of our fate appears
A sun-path in thy worth.
Me too thy nobleness has taught
To master my despair;
The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.

FRIEND AND LOVER

by Mary Ainge De Vere

WHEN Psyche's friend becomes her lover,
How sweetly these conditions blend!
But, oh, what anguish to discover
Her lover has become -- her friend!

A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP

by Thomas Moore

"A TEMPLE to Friendship," cried Laura, enchanted,
"I'll build in this garden; the thought is divine."
So the temple was built, and she now only wanted
An image of Friendship, to place on the shrine.
So she flew to the sculptor, who sat down before her
An image, the fairest his art could invent;
But so cold, and so dull, that the youthful adorer
Saw plainly this was not the Friendship she meant.
"O, never," said she, "could I think of enshrining
An image whose looks are so joyless and dim;
But yon little god upon roses reclining,
We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him."
So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden,
She joyfully flew to her home in the grove.
"Farewell," said the sculptor, "you're not the first maiden
Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love!"

FRIENDSHIP: A SONNET

by Alfred Tennyson

As when with downcast eyes we muse and brood,
And ebb into a former life, or seem
To lapse far back in some confused dream
To states of mystical similitude,
If one but speaks or hems or stirs his chair,
Ever the wonder waxeth more and more,
So that we say, 'All this hath been before,
All this hath been, I know not when or where;'
So, friend, when first I look'd upon your face,
Our thought gave answer each to each, so true --
Opposed mirrors each reflecting each --
That, tho I knew not in what time or place,
Methought that I had often met with you,
And either lived in either's heart and speech.

TO A DISTANT FRIEND

by William Wordsworth

WHY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant --
Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak -- though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine --
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

HULLO!

by Sam Walter Foss

W'EN you see a man in woe,
Walk right up and say "hullo!"
Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!"
"How's the world a usin' you?"
Slap the fellow on his back,
Bring your han' down with a whack;
Waltz right up, an' don't go slow,
Grin an' shake an' say "hullo!"

Is he clothed in rags? O sho!
Walk right up an' say "hullo!"
Rags is but a cotton roll
Jest for wrappin' up a soul;
An' a soul is worth a true
Hale an' hearty "how d'ye do!"
Don't wait for the crowd to go,
Walk right up and say "hullo!"

W'en big vessels meet, they say,
They saloot an' sail away.
Jest the same are you an' me,
Lonesome ships upon a sea;
Each one sailing his own jog
For a port beyond the fog.
Let your speakin' trumpet blow,
Lift your horn an' cry "hullo!"

Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!"
Other folks are good as you.
W'en you leave your house of clay,
Wanderin' in the Far-Away,
W'en you travel through the strange
Country t'other side the range,
Then the souls you've cheered will know
Who you be, an' say "hullo."

MY OLD FRIEND

James Whitcomb Riley

YOU'VE a manner all so mellow,
My old friend,
That it cheers and warms a fellow,
My old friend,
Just to meet and greet you, and
Feel the pressure of a hand
That one may understand,
My old friend.

Though dimmed in youthful splendor,
My old friend,
Your smiles are still as tender,
My old friend,
And your eyes as true a blue
As your childhood ever knew,
And your laugh as merry, too,
My old friend.

For though your hair is faded,
My old friend,
And your step a trifle jaded,
My old friend,
Old time, with all his lures
In the trophies he secures,
Leaves young that heart of yours,
My old friend.

And so it is you cheer me,
My old friend,
For to know you and be near you,
My old friend,
Makes my hopes of clearer light,
And my faith of surer sight,
And my soul a purer white,
My old friend.

FRIENDSHIP

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

DEAR friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving
Thy strong regard for me,
Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving;
Let thy faith speak for thee.

Swear not to me that nothing can divide us --
So little such oaths mean.
But when distrust and envy creep beside us,
Let them not come between.

Say not to me the depths of thy devotion
Are deeper than the sea;
But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion
Embitter them for thee.

Vow not to love me ever and forever,
Words are such idle things;
But when we differ in opinions, never
Hurt me by little stings.

I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken,
And spoken, are but air.
I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken
Than list thy words so fair.

If all the little proofs of trust are heeded,
If thou art always kind.
No sacrifice, no promise will be needed
To satisfy my mind.

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I SHOT an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I know not where;
For who has sight so knew and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterwards, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end
I found again in the heart of a friend.

IF NEEDS BE

by Charlotte Mansfield

TO moisten with one's tears the other's brow,
If needs be.
To turn one's back on pleasure, maybe life,
To take and hold all troubles, burdens, strife,
If needs be.
To bind oneself with an unwritten vow,
If needs be.

To ever yield a sympathetic ear,
If needs be.
To laugh when laughter onward flies,
To laugh, though for us mirth but cries,
If needs be.
To be stone deaf when censure's in the air,
If needs be.
To lose one's wit and give no apt reply,
To seem a fool, rather than draw a sigh,
If needs be.
To yield in all thy dealings double share,
If needs be.

BILL AND JOE

by Oliver Wendell Holmes

COME, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.

Your name may flaunt a titled trail
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail,
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill.

You've won the great world's envied prize,
And grand you look in people's eyes,
With HON. and LL.D.
In big brave letters, fair to see, --
Your fist, old fellow! off they go! --
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?

You've worn the judge's ermined robe;
You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain;
You've made the dead past live again:
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill.

The chaffing young folks stare and say
"See those old buffers, bent and gray, --
They talk like fellows in their teens!
Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means," --
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe! --

How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, --
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was Joe?

The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go, --
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill; --
'Tis poor old Joe's "God bless you, Bill!"

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears;
In some sweet lull of harps and song
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.

I READ, DEAR FRIEND

by Robert Louis Stevenson

I READ, dear friend, in your dear face
Your life's tale told with perfect grace;
The river of your life, I trace
Up the sun-checkered, devious bed
To the far-distant fountain-head.
Not one quick beat of your warm heart,
Nor thought that came to you apart,
Pleasure nor pity, love nor pain
Nor sorrow, has gone by in vain;
But as some lone, wood-wandering child
Brings home with him at evening mild
The thorns and flowers of all the wild,
From your whole life, O fair and true
Your flowers and thorns you bring with you!

THEY HAD BEEN FRIENDS

BY Samuel Taylor Coleridge

ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted -- ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining --
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between; --
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.

THE INALIENABLE BOND

by Lucy Larcom

WHAT is the best a friend can be
To any soul, to you or me?
Not only shelter, comfort, rest, --
Inmost refreshment unexpressed;
Not only a beloved guide
To thread life's labyrinth at our side,
Or with love's touch lead on before:
Though these be much, there yet is more.

The best friend is an atmosphere
Warm with all inspirations dear,
Wherein we breathe the large, free breath
Of life that hath no taint of death.
Our friend is an unconscious part
Of every true beat of our heart;
A strength, a growth, whence we derive
God's health, that keeps the world alive.

The best friend is horizon, too,
Lifting unseen things into view,
And widening every petty claim
Till lost in some sublimer aim;
Blending all barriers in the great
Infirmities that round us wait.
Friendship is an eternity
Where soul with soul walks, heavenly free.

Can friend lose friend? Believe it not!
The tissue whereof life is wrought,
Weaving the separate into one,
Nor end hath, nor beginning; spun
From subtle threads of destiny,
Finer than thought of man can see;
God takes not back his gifts divine;
While thy soul lives, thy friend is thine.

If but one friend have crossed thy way,
Once only, in thy mortal day;
If only once life's best surprise
Has opened on thy human eyes,
Ingrate thou wert, indeed, if thou
Didst not in that rare presence bow,
And on earth's holy ground, unshod,
Speak softlier the dear name of God.

FRIENDSHIP

by Samuel Johnson

FRIENDSHIP. peculiar boon of heav'n,
The noble mind's delight and pride,
To men and angels only giv'n,
To all the lower world denied.

Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys
On fools and villians ne'er descend;
In vain for thee the tyrant sighs,
And hugs a flatterer for a friend.

Directress of the brave and just,
O guide us through life's darksome way!
And let the tortures of mistrust
On selfish bosoms only prey.

Nor shall thine ardors cease to glow,
When souls to peaceful climes remove:
What rais'd our virtue here below,
Shall aid our happiness above.

THE MEETING

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

AFTER so long an absence
At last we meet again;
Does the meeting give us pleasure
Or does it give us pain?

The tree of life has been shaken,
And but few of us linger now,
Like the prophet's two or three berries
In the top of the uppermost bough.

We cordially greet each other
In the old familiar tone;
And we think, though we do not say it,
How old and gray he is grown!

We speak of a Merry Christmas,
And many a happy New Year;
But each in his heart is thinking
Of those that are not here.

We speak of friends and their fortunes,
And of what they did and said,
Till the dead alone seem living,
And the living alone seem dead.

And at last we hardly distinguish
Between the ghosts and the guests;
And a mist and shadow of sadness
Steals over our merriest jests.

FRIENDSHIP'S LIKE MUSIC

by Francis Quarles

FRIENDSHIP'S like music; two strings tuned alike,
Will both stir, though but only one you strike.
It is the quintessence of all perfection
Extracted into one: a sweet connection
Of all the virtues moral and divine,
Abstracted into one. It is a mine,
Whose nature is not rich, unless in making
The state of others wealthy, by partaking.
It blooms and blossoms both in sun and shade,
Doth (like a bay in winter) never fade:
It loveth all, and yet suspecteth none,
Is provident, yet seeketh not her own;
'Tis rare itself, yet maketh all things common;
And is judicious, yet judgeth no man.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The perfect model of true friendship's this:
A rare affection of the soul, which is
Begun with ripened judgment; doth persever
With simple wisdom, and concludes with Never.
'Tis pure in substance, as refined gold,
That buyeth all things, but is never sold,
It is a coin, and most men walk without it;
True love's the stamp, Jehovah's writ about it;
It rusts unused, but using makes it brighter,
'Gainst Heaven high treason 'tis to make it lighter.

POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES

by William Shakespeare

THE friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear 't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment...
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

I SAW IN LOUISIANA A LIVE-OAK GROWING

by Walt Whitman

I SAW in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friends near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room.
It is not needed to remind me of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I have thought of little else than of them)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or a lover near,
I know very well I could not.

PARTING

by Coventry Patmore

IF thou dost bid thy friend farewell,
But for one night though that farewell may be,
Press thou his hand in thine.
How canst thou tell how far from thee
Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere that to-morrow comes?
Men have been known to lightly turn the corner of a street,
And days have grown to months, and months to lagging years,
Ere they have looked in loving eyes again.
Parting, at best, is underlaid
With tears and pain.
Therefore, lest sudden death should come between,
Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure firm
The hand of him who goeth forth;
Unseen, Fate goeth too.
Yes, find thou always time to say some earnest word
Between the idle talk,
Lest with thee henceforth,
Night and day, regret should walk.

IT IS A SWEET THING

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

IT is a sweet thing, friendship: -- a dear balm;
A happy and auspicious bird of calm
Which rides o'er life's ever-tumultuous ocean;
A god that broods o'er chaos in commotion;
A flower which, fresh as Lapland roses are,
Lifts its bold head into the world's frore air,
And blooms most radiantly when others die, --
Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity, --
And with the light and odor of its bloom,
Shining within the dungeon and the tomb;
Whose coming is as light and music are
'Mid dissonance and gloom -- a star
Which moves not mid the moving heavens alone --
A smile amid dark frowns -- a gentle tone
Among rude voices, a beloved light,
A solitude, a refuge, a delight.

I GO, SWEET FRIENDS

by Felicia Hemans

I GO, sweet friends! yet think of me
When spring's young voice awakes with flowers;
For we have wandered far and free
In those bright hours, the violet's hours.

I go; but when you pause to hear
From distant hills the Sabbath-bell
On summer-winds float silvery clear,
Think on me then -- I loved it well!

Forget me not around your hearth,
When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze;
For dear hath been its evening mirth
To me, sweet friends, in other days.

And oh! when music's voice is heard
To melt in strains of parting woe,
When hearts to love and grief are stirred,
Think of me then! I go, I go!

MY HEART WAS COMFORTED

by Margaret E. Sangster

ONE came and told me suddenly,
"Your friend is dead! Last year she went";
But many years my friend had spent
In life's wide wastes, apart from me.

And lately I had felt her near,
And walked as if by soft winds fanned,
Had felt the touching of her hand,
Had known she held me close and dear.

And swift I learned that being dead
Meant rather being free to live,
And free to seek me, free to give,
And so my heart was comforted.

A TRUE FRIEND

by William Shakespeare

HAMLET. -- Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation coped withal...
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath sealed thee for herself; for thou hast been
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, --
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please: Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.

FRIENDS OF YOUTH

by Aubrey Thomas de Vere

THE half-seen memories of childish days,
When pains and pleasures lightly came and went;
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent
In fearful wanderings through forbidden ways;
The vague, but manly wish to tread the maze
Of life to noble ends, -- whereon intent,
Asking to know for what man here is sent,
The bravest heart must often pause and gaze;
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature, --
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend
With strength no selfish purpose can secure:
My happy lot is this, that all attend
That friendship which first came and which shall last endure.

THE GRACIOUS PAST

by James Russell Lowell

IN June 'tis good to lie beneath a tree
While the blithe season comforts every sense,
Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,
Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares,
Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow
Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up
And tenderly lines some last-year robin's nest.
There muse I of old times, old hopes, old friends, --
Old friends! The writing of those words has borne
My fancy backward to the gracious past,
The generous past, when all was possible,
For all was then untried; the years between
Have taught some sweet, some bitter lessons, none
Wiser than this, -- to spend in all things else,
But of old friends to be most miserly.
Each year to ancient friendships adds a ring,
As to an oak, and precious more and more,
Without deservingness or help of ours,
They grow, and, silent, wider spread, each year,
Their unbought rings of shelter or of shade.
Sacred to me the lichens on the bark,
Which Nature's milliners would scrape away;
Most dear and sacred every withered limb!
'Tis good to set them early, for our faith
Pines as we age, and, after wrinkles come,
Few plant, but water dead ones with vain tears.

THE MAKING OF FRIENDS

by Edgar A. Guest

IF nobody smiled and nobody cheered and nobody helped us along,
If each every minute looked after himself and good things allwent to the strong,

If nobody cared just a little for you, and nobody thought about me,
And we stood all alone to the battle of life, what a dreary old world it would be!

If there were no such thing as a flag in the sky as a symbol of comradeship here,
If we lived as the animals live in the woods, with nothing heldsacred or dear,

And selfishness ruled us from birth to the end, and never a neighbor had we,
And never we gave to another in need, what a dreary old worldit would be!

Oh! if we were rich as the richest on earth and strong as the strongest that lives, Yet never we knew the delight and the charm of the smile which the other man gives,

If kindness were never a part of ourselves, though we owned all the land we could see,And friendship meant nothing to all of us here, what a dreary oldworld it would be!

Life is sweet just because of the friends we have made and the things which in common we share;

We want to live on not because of ourselves, but because of the peoplewho care;

It's giving and doing for somebody else -- on that all life's splendor depends,
And the joy of this world, when you've summed it all up, is found in the making of friends.

© Roth Publishing, Inc. 1996. All rights reserved.