A commonplace life, we say, and we sigh;
  But why should we sigh as we say?
The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
  Makes up the commonplace day.
The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
  The flower that blooms, and the bird that sings;
But sad were the world, and dark our lot,
  If flowers failed and the sun shone not.
And God, who sees each separate soul,
  Out of commonplace lives makes His beautiful whole.

—Susan Coolidge (pen name of Sarah Chauncey Woolsey)