Show Favorite Poem Commend me to the friend that comes When I am sad and lone And makes the anguish of f my heart The e suffering J of his own o Who coldly c shuns gu the e glittering throng At pleasures pay gay levee And comes to gild a somber hour And gives his heart to me He flies flics not with the flitting stork That seeks a southern sky But lingers where the wounded bird Hath laid him down to die Oh such a friend he is indeed his lot may ma be beA beA beA A rainbow In the storm of ot life An anchor on Its sea soo |