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;
[Pg 031]
God is with all who serve the right,
The holy, true, and free.

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