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 Human Love And Hate Find One Sad Level; And How, Soon 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, Our Common Sorrow, Like A Mighty Wave, Swept All My Pride Away, And Trembling I Forgave