Hear sweet voices singing
In hedges and trees:
Shall we be less thankful,
Less trustful than these?
THE LARK.
Ah! little lark, I see you there,
So very, very high;
Just like a little, tiny speck
Up in the clear blue sky.
How good is He, who strengthens thus
Your slight and tender wing,
And teaches such a little throat
So sweet a song to sing.
EFFORT.
Scorn not the slightest word nor deed,
Nor deem it void of power;
There’s fruit in each wind-wafted seed,
That waits its natal hour.
A whispered word may touch the heart,
And call it back to life;
A look of love bid sin depart,
And still unholy strife.
No act falls fruitless; none can tell
How vast its powers may be,
Nor what results, unfolded, dwell
Within it, silently.
Work on,—despair not,—bring thy mite,
Nor care how small it be;
God is with all who serve the right,
The holy, true, and free.