What might be done if men were wise--
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,
Would they unite
In love and right,
And cease their scorn of one another!
Oppression's heart might be imbued
With kindling drops of loving-kindness,
And knowledge pour
From shore to shore
Light on the eyes of mental blindness.
All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,
All vice and crime, might die together;
And wine and corn
To each man born
Be free as warmth in summer weather.
The meanest wretch that ever trod,
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,
Might stand erect
In self-respect,
And share the teeming world to-morrow.
What might be done? This might be done.
And more than this, my suffering brother;
More than the tongue
E'er said or sung
If men were wise and loved each other.
--Charles Mackay.
If I could see
A brother languishing in sore distress,
And I should turn and leave him comfortless,
When I might be
A messenger of hope and happiness--
How could I ask to have that I denied
In my own hour of bitterness supplied?
If I might share
A brother's load along the dusty way,
And I should turn and walk alone that day,
How could I dare--
When in the evening watch I kneel to pray--
To ask for help to bear my pain and loss,
If I had heeded not my brother's cross?