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LITTLE NOTHINGS.
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Widow's mite, and cup of water,
Who than these could offer less?
Yet the glorious, great All-Good One,
Gift and giver deigns to bless.

Little nothings,—seeming trifles
Of our lives, make up the sum;
In the soul they make sweet music,
Speaking when the lips are dumb.

Little nothings,—do them, do them,
From the heart, and with a will;
What though only God may view them?
Do them, do them, do them still.