On the Feast of Saint John
If ever kindly voice or act
Hath helped a stinging pain subtract,
And love to flower in its place,
Then know, I pray, its Source was grace.
The gnarled, hardened roots of pride
Have halted men of hopeful stride
Who dared to labor and to love,
But gazed inside and not above.
Oh! What suffering may cease
The day I say "I must decrease."
Oh! What springs erupt of peace
The day I say, "He must increase."
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