 | Songs and ballads |  |
61
HATH THE WORLD.
Hath the world so much perfection,
Find ye friends as soon as sought,
That ye cast away affection
As it were a thing of nought?
Is the world so full of kindness,
Hath it so much love to spare,
That ye still, with more than blindness,
Lose your friends without a care?
Find ye friends as soon as sought,
That ye cast away affection
As it were a thing of nought?
Is the world so full of kindness,
Hath it so much love to spare,
That ye still, with more than blindness,
Lose your friends without a care?
Wiser in one faith abiding,
Trusting still, whate'er befall,
Better to be too confiding,
Than confide in none at all!
Better that the heart should sorrow
Over friendship to the end,
Than that we should live a morrow,
E'en an hour, without a friend!
Trusting still, whate'er befall,
Better to be too confiding,
Than confide in none at all!
Better that the heart should sorrow
Over friendship to the end,
Than that we should live a morrow,
E'en an hour, without a friend!
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