My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men.
One summer Sabbath-day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place,
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level, and how, soon or late.
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart.
Pass the green threshold of our common grave.
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race.
One common sorrow like a mighty wave
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!