Great events, we often find,
On little things depend,
And very small beginnings
Have oft a mighty end.

Letters joined make words,
And words to books may grow,
As flake on flake descending
Form an avalanche of snow.

A single untterance may good
Or evil thought inspire;
One little spark enkindled
May set a town on fire.

What volumes may be written
With little drops of ink!
How small a leak, unnoticed,
A mighty ship will sink!

A tiny insect’s labor
Makes the coral strand,
And mighty seas are girdled
With grains of golden sand.

A daily penny saved,
A fortune may begin;
A daily penny, squandered,
May lead to vice and sin.

Our life is made entirely
Of moments multiplied,
As little streamlets, joining,
Form the ocean’s tide.

Our hours and days, our months and years,
Are in small moments given:
They constitute our time below–
Eternity in heaven.

Anonymous

As per request and continuing with my poetry theme, I decided to post a poem I recently used in a sermon.

“They laugh and smile and talk and embrace and I do too. But sometimes my smile covers a tear. And no one knows. Right now my tear is from an ‘it’. I’m sorry, so very sorry I did ‘it’. I feel like a broken record and the skip is the ‘it’ that never completely goes away. What would they think if they knew my ‘it’? Would the laughs vanish? The smiles disappear? Would the talk be hurled at me? The embrace taken back? Do they have an ‘it’? What do they do with ‘it’? Why do we act for each other when there is no play? There is only life. And that life includes a lot of ‘it’. The point is not to celebrate ‘it’. But only to admit to ‘it’. I am told Jesus knows everything which means he knows about ‘it’. And yet, He whispers in words too good to be true … I died for you. ‘It’ is dealt with. Don’t worry about ‘it’.” –Chip Heim