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by Douglas Malloch

No man so poor but he may give
To other men some cheer,
No man too low or high may live
To help some brother near.
The forest that we tread is dark
And hidden is the trail;
Oh, keep alight the single spark
That leads to Holy Grail.

No gift so cheap to give, and yet
No gift so dear to hold;
The eyes that weep when eyes are wet
Are mines of rarest gold.
No gift so cheap as love is cheap,
Yet none so rich may be
As they who on their altars keep
The lamp of sympathy.

A forest dark, bewildering,
This life we wander through;
Praise God for those who work and sing,
For both we have to do—
Our greater mission not to win
The thing we most desire,
But more to keep, through care and sin,
Our hearts with love afire.

For there are others on the road,
The dark and misty trail,
And we who bear the lighter load
Must help the ones who fail;
And, helping on the weary soul
Who stumbles by alone,
Thus we, in striving for his goal,
Shall come upon our own.

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