by Shirley Chacko
Though justly of wrongs we complain,
Or faithfully sinners reprove,
Yet still we do all things in vain,
Unless we do all things in love.
Tis love makes us humble and meek!
The wounds of ill usage it cures,
It pities the falls of the weak,
The pride of the lofty endures.
Has God a command to fulfil,
Which nature untoward would shun?
Love brings to compliance the will,
And causes the deed to be done.
From Jesus the blessing must flow,
To creatures beneath and above;
May He His good Spirit bestow,
And we shall do all things in love.
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