Every heart that throbs must know
Fountains sweet and bitter;
Either we may cause to flow,
By the words we utter.

Idle words may pierce the deep
Of the gentlest spirit, –
Waking sorrow from its sleep,
Treading roughly near it.

Words of love may lull to rest
Care, or grief, or anguish, –
Rousing hope within the breast,
Where it seemed to languish.

Then let none misuse the gift
God for use has given;
Through Him, every word may lift
Some one nearer heaven.

– John Reade, 1837-1919