How great the treachery of friends, how dangerous the courtesy of enemies.
So, the sum of all these things operateth largely upon all men,
Hedging us about with thorns, to cramp our yearning sympathies,
And we grow materialized in mind, forgetting what we see not,
But, immersed in perceptions of the present, keep things absent out of thought:
Thus, where ingratitude, and guilt, and labour, and selfishness would harden,
Humbly will the good man bow, unmurmuring, to Neglect.
Yet once more, griever at Neglect, hear me to thy comfort, or rebuke:
For, after all thy just complaint, the world is full of love.
O heart of childhood, tender, trusting, and affectionate,