HIDE not thy talent in the earth,

However small it be;

Its faithful use, its utmost worth,

God will require of thee.

His own, which He hath lent on trust,

He asks of thee again;

Little or much, the claim is just,

And thine excuses vain.


What, if the little rain should plead,

“So small a drop as I

Can ne’er refresh yon thirsty mead;

I’ll tarry in the sky!”

What, if a shining beam of noon

Should in its fountain stay,

Because its feeble light alone

Was not enough for day?


Doth not each rain-drop help to form

The cool, refreshing shower?

And every ray of light to warm

And beautify the flower?

Go, then and strive to do thy part,

Though humble it may be;

The ready hand, the willing heart,

Are all God asks of thee.


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