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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 !
Cherish God's best giving,

Falling from above!
Life were not worth living,
Were it not for love.


There is a plant that in its cell

All trembling seems to stand,
And bends its stalk, and folds its leaves,

From each approaching hand.


And thus there is a conscious nerve

Within the human breast,
That, from the rude and careless hand,

Shrinks and retires distrest.

The pressure rude, the touch severe,

Will raise within the mind
A nameless thrill, a secret tear,

A torture undefined.

Oh, you who are by nature formed

Each thought refined to know !
Repress the word, the glance, that wakes

That trembling nerve to woe.

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Whene'er you see the feeling mind,

Oh, let this care begin!
And, though the cell be ne'er so low,
Respect the guest within.

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 ;
It was our blessed Saviour's name,

The Lord of earth and heaven.
The Spirit, like a little dove,

On Jesus once descended ;
To show his meekness and his love

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 ;
A little charity is sweet;

And, when in tribulation,
A little patience brings the soul

Large peace and consolation.

A little daily cheerfulness,

A little self-denial,
Will make our lighter troubles less,

And help each heavier trial ;
A little union serves to hold

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;
For in God's kingdom he hath said

The least shall be the greatest.
Oh, grant us, Lord, a blessed shower

Of heavenly grace and union ! And may thy children, rich and poor, Be one in love's communion !



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


Thomas Hood.

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