SYMPATHY.
Talfourd says in his Ion:—
“It is little:
But in these sharp extremities of fortune,
The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. ’Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain’d by fever’d lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which, by daily use,
Has almost lost its sense; yet, on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourn’d, ’twill fall
Like choicest music; fill the gazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense,
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honored death-bed of the rich,
To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near and feels.”