THE world is vast and we are small,
We are so weak and it so strong,
Onward it goes, nor cares at all
For us,— our silence or our song,
Our fast-day or our festival.
We tremble as we feel it sway
Beneath our feet as on we fare;
But, like a ball which children play,
God spins it through the far blue air.
We are his own; why should we care?