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Scorn not the slightest word or 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 power may be,
Nor what results infolded dwell
Within it silently.
Work on, despair not; bring thy mite,
Nor care how small it be;
God is with all that serve the right,
The holy, true, and free.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Scorn not the slightest word or deed |
| Title: | Effort |
| Author: | Anonymous |
| Meter: | C. M. |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1866 |
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