And every tear be wiped from every eye.
Hannah More.
The insect that with puny wing,
Just shoots along one summer ray;
The flow’ret, which the breath of spring
Wakes into life for half a day.
The smallest mote, the tenderest hair,
All feel our heavenly Father’s care.
E’en from the glories of His throne,
He bends to view this earthly ball;