Skip to main content
Say not, " It matters not to me;
My brother's weal is his behoof. "
For in this wondrous human web
If your life's warp, his life is woof.
Woven together are the threads,
And you and he are in one loom;
For good or ill, for glad or sad,
Your lives must share one common doom.

Man is dear to man: the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life,
When they can feel and know that they have been
Themselves the fathers and the dealers-out
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such
As needed kindness for the single cause,
That we have all of us one common heart.
Rate this poem
No votes yet
Reviews
No reviews yet.