 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
138
Old Friends
Books, old friends that are always new,Of all good things that we know, are best;
They never forsake us as others do,
And never disturb our inward rest.
Here is the truth in a world of lies,
And all that in man is great or wise.
Better than men or women, friend,
That are dust, though dear in our joy and pain,
Are the books their cunning hands have penned,
For they depart, but the books remain;
Through these they speak to us what is best,
In the loving heart and the noble mind;
All their royal souls possessed
Belongs for ever to all mankind.
When others fail him, the wise man looks
To the sure companionship of books.
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |