Sympathy

From “Ion,” Act I. Sc. 2. ’T IS a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happier hours. It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort which by daily use Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmourned ’t will fall Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellowship again; And shed on the departing soul a sense, More precious than the benison of friends About the honored death-bed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels.