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A poem by Jared Barhite

Kindred Spirits

Title:     Kindred Spirits
Author: Jared Barhite [More Titles by Barhite]

Oh, give me some heart of a kindred spirit
That smiles when I smile, or that weeps when I weep,
Whose solace is greater by far to inherit
Than the wealth of the mines or the gems of the deep.

Some heart that will echo response to my feeling,
That thrills with delight when I speak of my joy;
That sorrows with sorrow too deep for concealing,
When cankering griefs make my own heart's alloy.

Some heart that appreciates each little kindness,
That knows all my feelings, tho' oft unexpressed,
That sees not my faults with a passionate blindness,
But clings to my soul when 'tis sorely distressed.

Some heart whose affection can never be blighted,
That beats all in concert with that of my own,
That revels in pleasures with which I'm delighted,
And grieves at the sorrows which cause me to moan.

Some heart that can never be swerved from its mooring,
Though tempests may thunder and billows may roar,
That espouses my fate in spite of such roaring,
And when trials are sorest will trust even more.

My heart would exult to find such a treasure,
And return ev'ry throb in fidelity's pride,
Would suffer if need be, and call it but pleasure
To live or to die for a heart so allied.

No frown of the world could e'er cause me to tremble
While trusting my all in a heart such as this,
Too fond to deceive me; too true to dissemble--
'Twere a foretaste of Heaven, the acme of bliss.

Can it be, can it be, the world is so varied,
Human hearts never beat on chords that are even!
Is versatile man so odd, or so seared
That perfect accord is known but in Heaven!

My heart shall rejoice that some kindred vibrations
Soothe the devious marge of the pathway of fate,
And gathering strength through many privations
Shall learn in contentment to patiently wait.

* * * * *

To sit an hour on lichened stone,
Or mould'ring log by moss o'ergrown,
And use our ears and eyes,
Will teach us the effect and cause
Of many of great Nature's laws
That now are mysteries.

[The end]
Jared Barhite's poem: Kindred Spirits