Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our pleasant earth below Like the heaven above. - Julia Abigail Fletcher Carney

Think gently of the erring: Ye know not of the power With which the dark temptation came In some unguarded hour. Ye may not know how earnestly They struggled, or how well, Until the hour of weakness came, And sadly thus they fell.

How oft the word which we would gladly speak Might be, unto some darkly groping soul, The key to bid doubt's massive doors unroll, The free winds' breath upon the prisoner's cheek, Or. to the hungry heart, sweet pity's dole! We hurry on, nor know that they are near, As passed Evangeline the one so dear.

How near another's heart we oft may stand, Yet all unknowing what we fain would know Its heights of joy, its depths of bitter woe, As, wrecked upon some desert island's strand, They watch our white sails near and nearer grow; Then we, who for their rescue death would dare, Unheeding pass, and leave them to despair.