Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control
    That o’er thee swell and throng;
They will condense within thy soul,
    And change to purpose strong.

But he who lets his feelings run
    In soft, luxurious flow,
Shrinks when hard service must be done,
    And faints at every woe.

Faith’s meanest deed more favor bears
    Where hearts and wills are weighed,
Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
    Which bloom their hour and fade.


– John Henry Newman

Leave a Reply