One sweetly solemn thought, comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home today, than I ever have been before.

I think true love is never blind, / But rather brings an added light; / An inner vision quick to find / The beauties hid from common sight.

But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they all.

And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!

Do we call the star lost that is hidden / In the great light of morn?

For of all hard things to bear and grin, / The hardest is knowing you're taken in.

Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small.