Here has my salient faith annealed me.
Out of the valley, past the ample crib
To skies impartial, that do not disown me
Nor claim me, either, by Adam's spine—nor rib.

The oar plash, and the meteorite's white arch
Concur with wrist and bicep. In the moon
That now has sunk I strike a single march
To heaven or hades—to an equally frugal noon.

Because these millions reap a dead conclusion
Need I presume the same fruit of my bone
As draws them towards a doubly mocked confusion
Of apish nightmares into steel-strung stone?

O, steel and stone! But gold was, scarcity before.
And here is water, and a little wind….
There is no breath of friends and no more shore
Where gold has not been sold and conscience tinned.

Is it worth while that we jostle a brother, 
Bearing his load on the rough road of life?
Is it worth while that we jeer at each other 
In blackness of heart?—that we war to the knife? 
God pity us all in our pitiful strife.

God pity us all as we jostle each other; 
God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel 
When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather, 
Pierced to the heart: words are keener than steel, 
And mightier far for woe than for weal.

Were it not well, in this brief little journey 
On over the isthmus, down into the tide, 
We give him a fish instead of a serpent, 
Ere folding the hands to be and abide 
Forever and aye in dust at his side?

Look at the roses saluting each other; 
Look at the herds all at peace on the plain— 
Man, and man only, makes war on his brother, 
And dotes in his heart on his peril and pain— 
Shamed by the brutes that go down on the plain.

Is it worth while that we battle to humble 
Some poor fellow down into the dust? 
God pity us all! Time too soon will tumble 
All of us together, like leaves in a gust, 
Humbled, indeed, down into the dust.

Why should we envy a moment of pleasure 
Some poor fellow-mortal has wrung from it all? 
Oh! could you look into his life's broken measure— 
Look at the dregs—at the wormwood and gall— 
Look at his heart hung with crape like a pall;

Look at the skeletons down by his hearthstone; 
Look at his cares in their merciless sway, 
I know you would go and say tenderly, lowly, 
Brother—my brother, for aye and for aye, 
Lo! Lethe is washing the blackness away.