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.



See:
Bassett’s scrap book (Boston, Massachusetts), vol. 4 no. 1, March 1906, p. 1
Strickland W. Gillilan, Including Finnigin: A Book of Gillilan Verse, Philadelphia: Pearson Brothers, 1908, p. 93

Notes by Andrew Guild:
Strickland Gillilan was born in 1869 in Ohio (USA), and died in 1954. “Rediscovering Strickland Gillilan” by Kate Maynard has some more information about the poet.

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