My blessing rest with you, dear friends, though no more
Shall the poor and the weary rejoice at your door;
Though like stars to your homes I have seen you depart,
Still ye live, O ye live in each vein of my heart.
Still the light of your looks on my darkness is thrown,
Still your voices breathe round me when weary and lone;
Like shades ye come back with each feeling old strain,
But the world shall ne’er look on your equals again.
The difference between a rich man and a poor man is this—the former eats when he pleases, the latter when he can get it.—Sir W. Raleigh.