Sympathy

Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd (1795–1854)

From “Ion,” Act I. Sc. 2.

’T IS a little thing

To give a cup of water; yet its draught

Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,

May give a shock of pleasure to the frame

More exquisite than when nectarean juice

Renews the life of joy in happier hours.

It is a little thing to speak a phrase

Of common comfort which by daily use

Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear

Of him who thought to die unmourned ’t will fall

Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye

With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand

To know the bonds of fellowship again;

And shed on the departing soul a sense,

More precious than the benison of friends

About the honored death-bed of the rich,

To him who else were lonely, that another

Of the great family is near and feels.