It was only a little word, cruel and cold,
   From lips we love,
But it wounded an immortal soul:
   The wound was felt above.

'Twas only a ripple of laughter, happy and bright,
 Far better than sighing:
It cheered a watcher in the lonely night,
 And soothed the dying.

'Twas only a little dewdrop, in silence it fell
   And saved a dying flower:
In its fragrance and its beauty who can tell
 The magic of its power?

'Twas only a faltering prayer from a broken heart,

But it reached God's throne,
 With the quivering sigh that touched each golden harp
 With melody unknown.

^__Hattie L. Knapp.