Classic Poem

And friendship is the sacred name--
The name I love to hear;
Gives to my heart a sacred flame,
And music to my ear.

Yes, friendship is a joy indeed,
A peaceful, fragrant bower;
To which doth many a soul recede
In tribulation's hour;

And there its load of sorrow lays,
Feels conscious of relief,
Soothed by the balm which it displays
For healing wounds of grief.

Its paths are pleasant and serene;
They lie in pleasure's way;
It is true pleasure--there is seen
No base, no false array.

'Tis there true joy is to be found,
And anger lays her down
Amid the placid scenes around,
To bask away her frown.

And there that childhood oft is seen
To spread its purest glee,
And hold its dimpled arms in ween
To friendship pure and free.

'Tis there that riper manhood goes
And feeble age reclines;
For it the genial sunshine knows,
Which on her pathway shines.

True friendship's fervour ne'er grows cold;
Its lamp doth alway burn;
Its beauty never waxeth old;
Its shadows never turn.

The waters are both sweet and pure,
Which through its courses flow;
Such as would souls of trouble lure;
'Tis they who try them know.

Were old and young together joined,
In friendship's paths to tread,
What blessings would thereby rebound
On many a sorrowing head!