Classic Poem

The flowers you sent were very fair,
The spring's breath made their perfume sweet;
But with them came a gift more rare
Than any that the senses greet.

You thought you only put in flowers;
But you gave more than box could hold, —
Cheer for the ofttimes weary hours,
And sympathy more rare than gold.

I speak my heart out in the crowd,
Seeking to utter Truth's sweet will;
But oft the words seem lost, as loud
Swells the world's Babel-jargon still.

But when a voice comes back to me, —
" One listened and was helped, " — I say,
" God did speak through me then; and he
Has not cast all my work away. "