Look at the herds all at peace on the plain—
Is it worth while that we jeer at each other
Some poor fellow-mortal has wrung from it all?
God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel
Look at the roses saluting each other;
Is it worth while that we jostle a brother,
Humbled, indeed, down into the dust.
Ere folding the hands to be and abide
Brother—my brother, for aye and for aye,
And mightier far for woe than for weal.
Look at his heart hung with crape like a pall;
Is it worth while that we battle to humble
Lo! Lethe is washing the blackness away.
I know you would go and say tenderly, lowly,
Shamed by the brutes that go down on the plain.
And dotes in his heart on his peril and pain—
When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather,
Forever and aye in dust at his side?
God pity us all as we jostle each other;
Pierced to the heart: words are keener than steel,
We give him a fish instead of a serpent,
Why should we envy a moment of pleasure
God pity us all in our pitiful strife.
Were it not well, in this brief little journey
In blackness of heart?—that we war to the knife?
Look at the dregs—at the wormwood and gall—
Some poor fellow down into the dust?
God pity us all! Time too soon will tumble
Look at the skeletons down by his hearthstone;
Oh! could you look into his life's broken measure—
On over the isthmus, down into the tide,
Bearing his load on the rough road of life?
All of us together, like leaves in a gust,
Man, and man only, makes war on his brother,
Look at his cares in their merciless sway,