A Friend

He's not a friend who flatters you

With empty words,

To lift you high in self-esteem

Or have you feel

That you are what you're not.

A friend will wound you --

Cruelly, perhaps,

With truth's hard edge of steel.

He's not a friend who bends his back

To bear a burden that is yours

Or clears the rock-strewn way

Through all its length;

A Friend will merely hold you

By the hand

To let you know he knows your

Need of strength.

He's not a friend who bids you

Leave off trying the ascent

To gleaming, distant star

At heaven's top.

However futilely you strive,

A freind will know

There's glory in the following

Of dreams -- nor see you stop.

He's not a friend who ridicules

Your pitiful mistake,

In dread of how some error leads

To tragic end.

But if he makes pretense of

Never having seen

The thing that you yourself

Deplore -- he is your firend.

He's not a friend who scoff

At every naive faith

You turn to in a troubled sea

Of doubt.

He is your friend who kneels

With you to pray,

Yet feels there's little but

The prayer -- to lift you out.

(Copyright, 1940)