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Poem	"I Have sacrificed all," thou sayest, "that man I might succor; Vain the attempt; my reward was persecution and hate." Shall I tell thee, my friend, how I to humor him manage? Trust the proverb! I ne'er have been deceived by it yet. Thou canst not sufficiently prize humanity's value; Let it be coined in deed as it exists in thy breast. E'en to the man whom thou chancest to meet in life's narrow pathway, If he should ask it of thee, hold forth a succoring hand. But for rain and for dew, for the general welfare of mortals, Leave thou Heaven to care, friend, as before, so e'en now.
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