WORDS.

Words are little things; but then They decide the fate of men; By them, souls are stirred; Ah! how little do we know What a weight of joy or woe May hang on a word! Could we only stop and think That perhaps a severed link From our words may flow; Would the thoughtless word be spoken, By which tender ties are broken, Causing tears of woe? Did we know what joy and gladness, We could bring to hearts of sadness By a loving tone; How the weight of care would lighten, And the dreary path would brighten, Of the lives so lone! Should we not be ever trying While the hours of life are flying, For a loving heart? So that unto souls aweary, Unto those whose lives are dreary, We might joy impart. Words are little things—yet still How much of our lives they fill With their weal or woe. How much happiness they bring, And how bitterly they sting, Every heart doth know.