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 tellHow vast its powers may be,Nor what results, unfolded, dwellWithin 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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