YOU never can tell when you send a word--
Like an arrow shot from a bow
By an archer blind-- be it cruel or kind,
Just where it will chance to go.
It may pierce the breast of your dearest friend,
Tipped with its poison or balm;
To a stranger's heart in life's great mart
It may carry its pain or its calm.
You never can tell when you do an act
Just what the result will be;
But with every deed you are sowing a seed,
Though the harvest you may not see.
Each kindly act is an acorn dropped
In God's productive soil;
You may not know, yet the tree shall grow
And shelter the brows that toil.
You never can tell what your thoughts will do
In bringing you hate or love;
For thoughts are things, and their airy wings
Are swifter than carrier doves.
They follow the law of the universe--
Each thing must create its kind;
And they speed o'er the track to bring you back
Whatever went out from your mind.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Munseys Monthly 12 (February 1895): 471.
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