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 this hour, and fade.
--John Henry Newman.
Fair is the soul, rare is the soul
Who has kept, after youth is past,
All the art of the child, all the heart of the child,
Holding his faith at last.
--Frank Gelett Burgess.