w o r r y ■ A tiny little worry grows Into a great big thorn, That turns into a burden Too heavy to be borne. Bowed low tiWarry-str^ffl^Maj We only ¡se rry ji^ au rjii^^ And so we: miss Go to Mpmises Which in His ^jferjLMiWwQ’B i Our worries clip the wings of faith; Sap strength, vitality, So that we cannot soar into The realms of victory. ^TOosprajBises are diamonds; LikgjStars jn*WWh%ht's blue! Look Heavenward a pud claim them, Forthey ai^ meanttoryou. —Esther B. Heins
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