The tongue loveth not boasting, the heart is made glad with kindness:
And one standeth not as on a hill, beckoning to the other to follow,
But ye toil up hand in hand, and carry each other's burdens.
Ye commune of hopes and aspirations, the fervent breathings of the heart,
Ye speak with pleasant interchange the treasured secrets of affection,
Ye listen to the voice of complaint, and whisper the language of comfort,
And as in a double solitude, ye think in each other's hearing.
Choose thy friend discreetly, and see thou consider his station,
For the graduated scale of ranks accordeth with the ordinance of Heaven.
If a low companion ripen to a friend, in the full sunshine of thy confidence,