Classic Poem

Lo , in my hour of need I called on thee,
Asking thy friendship's none too heavy toll;
Comrades were we when I was glad and whole,
And yet thou cam'st not, and at last I see
Twain are the ways of friendship, and there be
One that laughs with us o'er the fragrant bowl,
And one that wanders with the troubled soul
In the great silence of Gethsemane.

I can forgive, and while glad days abound
Thou shalt be with me; but when Autumn flings
The rose-leaf and the wine-cup to the ground,
Then would I call upon the heart that hears
With intimate love the depth of human things,
The eye that knows the sanctity of tears.