Never elated while one mans oppressd; — Sympathy

"Jobling, there are chords in the human mind."

"The man who melts With social sympathy, though not allied, Is of more worth than a thousand kinsmen."

"Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider like, we feel the tenderest touch."

"For thou hast given me in this beauteous face, A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts."

"Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me! Made answer to my word."

"Tact is the result of refined sympathy."