1 Scorn not the slightest word or deed,
Nor deem it void of power;
There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed
That waits it natal hour.

2 A whispered word may touch the heart,
And call it back to life;
A look of love bid sin depart,
And still unholy strife.

3 No act falls fruitless; none can tell
How vast its power may be,
Nor what results enfolded dwell
Within it silently.

4 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.