8
POEMS.
Then strike these harps daily,
By deed, look, and word;
Hearts around us are sighing for aid;
And since some are sad,
Whom a word can make glad,
Say, shall not the kind word be said?
By deed, look, and word;
Hearts around us are sighing for aid;
And since some are sad,
Whom a word can make glad,
Say, shall not the kind word be said?
Though countless the stars,
Heart-harps are not less,
They are playing below and above;
But wherever they be,
They have one master-key—
And the name of that one key is love.
Heart-harps are not less,
They are playing below and above;
But wherever they be,
They have one master-key—
And the name of that one key is love.
