Give me for friend the man whose friends are few;
Who, though his heart be clean and stanch and good —
Though every fibre of his soul be true —
Is tactless, blunt, and seldom understood.
In such a drift God oft conceals a lode
Whose richness makes Golconda’s wealth seem naught;
On such a one He ofttimes has bestowed
Large worth so hid it must be shrewdly sought.
So, while the rabble fawns on him whose friends
Are as the sands that rim the ocean’s blue,
I choose the best of all that heaven sends —
Give me for friend the man whose friends are few.
— Strickland W. Gillilan.