The sweetest notes among the human heart-strings 
                  Are dull with rust; 
      The sweetest chords, adjusted by the angels, 
                 Are clogged with dust; 
        We pipe and pipe again our dreary music 
              Upon the self-same strains, 
     While sounds of crime, and fear, and desolation, 
               Come back in sad refrains. 

       On through the world we go, an army marching 
                  With listening ears, 
      Each longing, sighing, for the heavenly music 
                    He never hears; 
       Each longing, sighing, for a word of comfort, 
               A word of tender praise, 
       A word of love, to cheer the endless journey 
              Of earth's hard, busy days. 

        They love us, and we know it; this suffices 
                  For reason's share. 
    Why should they pause to give that love expression 
                   With gentle care? 
 Why should they pause? But still our hearts are aching 
               With all the gnawing pain 
       Of hungry love that longs to hear the music, 
              And longs and longs in vain. 
  
       We love them, and they know it; if we falter, 
                   With fingers numb, 
       Among the unused strings of love's expression, 
                  The notes are dumb. 
      We shrink within ourselves in voiceless sorrow, 
                Leaving the words unsaid, 
     And, side by side with those we love the dearest, 
                 In silence on we tread. 

     Thus on we tread, and thus each heart in silence 
                    Its fate fulfils, 
        Waiting and hoping for the heavenly music 
              Beyond the distant hills. 
        The only difference of the love in heaven 
               From love on earth below Is: 
         Here we love and know not how to tell it, 
               And there we all shall know. 
           
              -Constance Fenimore Woolson-

And the youth said,Speak to us of Friendship.
And he answered, saying:
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and
reap with thanksgiving. 
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and
you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear 
not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you 
withhold the "ay."
And when he is silent your heart ceases not
to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts,
all desires, all expectations are born and shared,
with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be
clearer in his absense, as the mountain to the 
climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship
save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure
of its own mystery is not love but a net cast
forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him
know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek
him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need,but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there
be laughter and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds
its morning and is refreshed.