What small desires I have.
How miniscule, how puny they are;
So simple, when taken separately,
Yet they gather, great in number,
Multiplied hourly in a chaotic, mumbling
Fugue of a million themes—
And I but one in a choir—
Until I cry out
O God, how great your power,
To be able steadfastly to ignore
Such cacophony.
Gary Witt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-help-in-ages-past/
