Poems (Coolidge)/And Yet
AND YET
A little cross,—and yet, Through shadowed days, On tired shoulders laid Too much it weighs.
A tiny thorn—and yet, So deep its wound There seems no healing balm Can e'er be found.
A hasty word—and yet A sword-thrust keen; What joy, unspoken still, There might have been.
A tender touch—and yet Possessing power A heavy cross to ease In darkest hour.
A winning smile—and yet With sunshine fraught; One may not know how great The charm it wrought.
A gentle word—and yet 'Twere hard to say How oft its echo cheers A saddened day.