November 6

There are who come to me, and write, and send,

Whom I would love, giving good things to all,

But friend—that name I cannot on them spend;

'Tis from the centre of self-love they call

For cherishing—for which they first must know

How to be still, and take the seat that's low:

When, Lord, shall I be fit—when wilt thou call me friend?