Grown like the flowers by God’s own care,
Like them blooming as fresh and fair,
Earth’s hills and vales among?
Was it a dream, that men did feel
Themselves as brothers for wo or weal,
Seeking the wounds of life to heal
With soothing words of love;
Speaking to each as on he wends
Grasping in every hand a friend’s,
Smoothing the path of Age that tends