Classic Poem

He is a Friend, who scorns the little sphere,
Of narrow self, and finds a joy sincere
To see another blest; whose generous heart
To all around would happiness impart,
If happiness were his: whose bosom glows
With warmth the frozen stoic never knows.
Divine benevolence, where friendship reigns,
And piety the sacred flame maintains.
This is the tye inviolate, which binds
In mutual friendship, harmonizing minds.
A friend thus form'd, is form'd to give delight,
To brighten joy, and gild affliction's night:
His heart exults whene'er his friends rejoice,
And every pleasing power at friendship's voice,
Awakes to life, and bids the transport rise
In grateful adoration to the skies.

But ah, how short the bright untroubled hour!
Sobn clouds arise, and storms impending lower,
And oft they burst upon the fainting heart;
Then friendship shews her noblest, kindest art,
Sustains the drooping powers, and helps to bear
The well-divided load of mutual care,
If griefs oppress, or threatening woes impend,
Dear solace then, to find a real friend!
He is a real friend, whose passions know
The anguish of communicated woe;
Who feels the deep distress when sorrow mourns,
And from his inmost heart the sigh returns.
The kindred sigh conveys a strange relief:
How cordial is society in grief!
Less are the woes, and lighter are the cares,
Which gentle, sympathizing friendship shares.
When humbly at the throne of grace we bend,
And ask its kindest blessings for a friend;
When for a friend our warmest wishes rise
In holy breathings to the pitying skies;
The sacred precept warrants those desires,
And heaven will sure approve, what heaven inspires.

O may I make my friends distress my own,
Nor let my heart, unhappy, grieve alone:
In sorrow, may I never want a friend,
Nor when the wretched mourn, a tear to lend.