The murmur of a waterfall
A mile away,
The rustle when a robin lights
Upon a spray,
The lapping of a lowland stream
On dipping boughs,
The sound of grazing from a herd
Of gentle cows,
The echo from a wooded hill
Of cuckoo’s call,
The quiver through the meadow grass
At evening fall:—
Too subtle are these harmonies
For pen and rule,
Such music is not understood
By any school:
But when the brain is overwrought,
It hath a spell,
Beyond all human skill and power,
To make it well.


The memory of a kindly word
For long gone by,
The fragrance of a fading flower
Sent lovingly,
The gleaming of a sudden smile
Or sudden tear,
The warmer pressure of the hand,
The tone of cheer,
The hush that means “I cannot speak
But I have heard !”
The note that only bears a verse
From God’s own Word:—
Such tiny things we hardly count
As ministry;
The givers deeming they have shown
Scant sympathy:
But when the heart is overwrought,
Oh, who can tell
The power of such tiny things
To make it well !

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