Little headaches, little heartaches,
Little griefs of every day,
Little trials and vexations,
How they throng around our way.

One great cross, immense and heavy,
So it seems to our weak wills,
Might be borne with resignation,
But these many small ones kill.

Yet all life is found of small things,
Little leaves make up the trees,
Many tiny drops of water,
Blending, make the mighty seas.

So these many little burdens
Pressing on our hearts so hard,
All uniting, form a life's work
Meriting a grand reward.

Let us not, then, by impatience,
Mar the beauty of the whole,
But for love of Jesus bear all
To the silence of the soul.

Asking him for grace sufficient
To sustain through each loss,
And to treasure each small offering
As a splinter from his cross.

Songs of the Nightingale