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There's no dearth of kindness,
Though it be unspoken : From the heart it sendeth
Smiles of heaven in token. There be none so lowly
But have some angel-touch: Yet, nursing love unholy,
We live for self too much !
As the wild-rose bloweth,
As runs the happy river, Kindness freely floweth
In the heart for ever. But if men will hanker
Aye for golden dust, Best of hearts will canker,
Brightest spirits rust.
There's no dearth of kindness
In this world of ours ; Only, in our blindness,
We gather thorns for flowers !
Falling from above!
Gerald Massey. REGARD TO THE FEELINGS OF OTHERS.
There is a plant that in its cell
All trembling seems to stand,
From each approaching hand.
And thus there is a conscious nerve
Within the human breast,
Shrinks and retires distrest.
The pressure rude, the touch severe,
Will raise within the mind
A torture undefined.
Oh, you who are by nature formed
Each thought refined to know !
That trembling nerve to woe.
Whene'er you see the feeling mind,
Oh, let this care begin!
L. H. Sigourney.
Faith, little as a mustard-seed,
Can move a lofty mountain, And do full many a mighty deed
Quite past all human counting : A little voice, quite small and still,
Can rule the whole creation; A little stone the earth shall fill,
And humble every nation.
The little title of a "Lamb"
Unto our Lord was given ;
The Lord of earth and heaven.
On Jesus once descended ;
The emblem was intended.
A little timely zeal is good,
It doth the heart inspire; A little spark upon the wood
Will set the whole on fire ;
And, when in tribulation,
Large peace and consolation.
A little daily cheerfulness,
A little self-denial,
And help each heavier trial ;
The good and tender-hearted; 'Tis firmer than a chain of gold,
And never can be parted.
Then let love's little labors be
The earliest and the latest;
The least shall be the greatest.
Of heavenly grace and union ! And may thy children, rich and poor, Be one in love's communion !
THE GOOD HEART.
Look how a slender rivulet steals along,
In windings devious through a meadow's grass ! Its waters all too scant to raise a song
Of murmurous pleasure unto all that pass : Wherefore, with lowly aim, it doth but seek
The thirsting herbage to refresh unseen ; Whereat, each tiny leaf and floweret meek
Doth clothe itself with sweets and livelier green. So the good heart, who hath no store of wealth
His poorer neighbors to enrich withal, Doeth his little kindnesses by stealth,
That so the world may not perceive at all ; Nor should we know the virtues which he hath, Save for the brightening looks that mark his humble