Sympathy.
By Thomas Frederick Young
'Mid forces all, that work unseen,
And cheer or warm the human breast,
Thou, Sympathy, hath ever been,
In active power, amid the rest:
When raging hate, or heedless love,
Aspir'd to rule and reign alone,
Thou still did keep thy place above,
And rul'd serenely, from thy throne.
Thou ever dost assert thy right,
And walkest on thy gentle way,
To rule with mild, persuasive might,
But with a strong, unconscious sway,
What pow'r thou hast o'er human hearts
We daily feel, we daily see;
For men and women act their parts,
Encourag'd and upheld by thee.
For, in an unseen current runs,
From heart to heart, from soul to soul,
Thy force, like heat from genial suns,
To permeate and warm the whole.
Not always, tho', to warm and cheer.
At times thy influence is chill,
And checks the noble rage of thought,
As ice can check a flowing rill.
One cutting word of ours can wilt,
Or blast the young heart's fairest flow'r,
And tumble down air castles built,
By this unseen affection's pow'r.
That man is brave, who acts his part,
'Mid comrades faithful, known and brave,
But braver far is he, whose heart
Upholds itself upon the wave.
For men have shrunk with coward fright,
At terrors which they ne'er might feel,
Had Sympathy's strange, magic might
Inspir'd their hearts to face the steel.