John Greenleaf Whittier
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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 huma n love and hate Find one sad level; and how, soo or late Wronged and wrongdoer, 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, Once common sorrow, like a mighty wave, Swept all my pride away, and I forgave!