Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/56

54 Perhaps you’re counted with the Great; You strain and strive with mighty men; Your hand is on the helm of State; Colossus-like you stride… and then There comes a pause, a shining hour, A dog that leaps, a hand that clings: O Titan, turn from pomp and power; Give all your heart to Little Things.

Go couch you childwise in the grass, Believing it’s some jungle strange, Where mighty monsters peer and pass. Where beetles roam and spiders range. ’Mid gloom and gleam, of leaf and blade, What dragons rasp their painted wings! O magic world of shine and shade! O beauty land of Little Things!

I sometimes wonder, after all, Amid this tangled web of fate, If what is great may not be small, And what is small may not be great. So wondering I go my way, Yet in my heart contentment sings… O may I ever see, I pray, God’s grace and love in Little Things.

So give to me, I only beg, A little roof to call my own, A little cider in the keg, A little meat upon the bone;