Happy is the man that seeth the face of a friend in a far country:
The darkness of his heart is melted in the rising of an inward joy.
It is like the sound of music heard long ago and half forgotten:
It is like the coming back of birds to a wood that winter hath made bare.
I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the desert:
Nor the value of a friend till the meeting in a lonely land.
The multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me:
And I said to God, Why hast thou made the world so wide?
But when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror:
Because we were glad together among men who knew us not.
I was slowly reading a book that was written in a strange language:
And suddenly I came upon a page in mine own familiar tongue.
This was the heart of my friend that quietly understood me:
The open heart whose meaning was clear without a word.
O my God whose love followeth all thy pilgrims and strangers:
I praise thee for the comfort of comrades on a distant road.
