Trifles.
The griefs that fall to every share,1
The heavier sorrows that life brings,2
The heart can nerve itself to bear—3
Great sorrows are half holy things,4
But for the ills each hour must make,5
The cares with every day renewed,6
It seems scarce worth the while to take7
Such little things with fortitude.8
And he before whose wakened might9
The strongest enemies must fall,10
Is overcome by foes so slight,11
He scorns to hold them foes at all.12