Little Things.
Scorn not the slightest word or deed,1
Nor deem it void of power ;2
There’s fruit in each wind-wafted seed,3
Waiting its natal hour.4
A whisper’d word may touch the heart,5
And call it back to life ;6
A look of love bid sin depart,7
And still unholy strife.8
No act falls fruitless ; none can tell9
How vast its power may be,10
Nor what results unfolded dwell11
Within it silently12
Work, and despair not : give thy mite,13
Nor care how small it be ;14
God is with all who serve the right,15
The holy, true, and free.16