On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend;
And crush’d ill fortune when she gave a friend.
A solitary blessing few can find;
Our joys with those we love are intertwined;
And he whose wakeful tenderness removes
Th’ obstructing thorn which wounds the breast he loves,
Smoothes not another’s rugged path alone,
But scatters roses to adorn his own.
Hannah More.
There is a Friend, more tender, true,