Gerald Massey

* * *

THERE'S no dearth of kindness,
    In this world of ours;
Only in our blindness,
    We gather thorns for flowers!
Outward, we are spurning—
    Trampling one another!
While we are inly, yearning
    With the name of "Brother!"

There's no dearth of kindness,
    Or love among mankind,
But in darkling loneness,
    Hooded hearts, grow blind!
Full of kindness tingling,
    Soul is shut from soul,
When they might be mingling,
    In one kindred whole!

There's no dearth of kindness,
    Tho' it be unspoken,
From the heart it buildeth,
    Rainbow-smiles in token—
That there be none so lowly,
    But, have some angel-touch,
Yet nursing loves unholy,
    We live for self too much!

There's no dearth of kindness,
    In this world of ours,
Only, in our blindness,
    We gather thorns for flowers,
And if men will hanker
    Ever, for golden dust,
Kingliest hearts will canker,
    Brightest Spirits rust!

As the wild rose bloweth—
    As runs the happy river—
Kindness freely floweth,
    In the heart for ever,
And 'tis God' best giving—
    Falling from above!
Life, were not worth living,
    Were it not for love!