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Poems (Shipton)/Words

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For works with similar titles, see Words.
4502866Poems — WordsAnna Shipton

WORDS.

"Set a watch, Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips."—Psalm cxh. 3.
"Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment."—Matt. xii. 36.
"The words of the pure are pleasant words."—Prov. xv. 26.

Oh, never say a careless word Hath not the power to pain; The shaft may ope some hidden wound That closes not again. Weigh well those light-winged messengers; God marked thy heedless word, And with it, too, the falling tear, The heart-pang which it stirred.
Words! what are words? An idle breath That floateth lightly by, Smiles on the lip from whence it came In tones of melody. Yet words have strength to wound or bless, Though lightly they be flung; Still writ upon some human heart, Told by an angel's tongue.
Words! what are words? A simple sound Hath spells to call the tears That long have lain a sealed fount, Through many mournful years. Back from the shrouded sepulchre A word hath summoned forth A form, that hath its place no more Among the things of earth.
Words! Heed them well. Some whispered tone Hath yet a power to fling A shadow on the brow, the soul In agony to wring; A name, forbidden or forgot, That sometimes unawares Murmurs upon our wakening lips, And mingles in our prayers.
Oh, words, sweet words! A blessing comes Softly from kindly lips; Tender, endearing words, that break The spirit's drear eclipse. Oh, are there not some cherished tones Deep in the heart enshrined? Uttered but once, they passed, and left A track of light behind.
Words! what are words? Ah! know'st thou not The household names of love? The thousand tender memories That float their graves above? Buried beneath the world's cold tread, Yet 'mid the crowd they rise, And smile, as angel-guests would smile, With gentle, earnest eyes.
Thou hast been blest, if never bent Thy head in anguish low To hide the trembling lip, the tear One word hath caused to flow; Striving in vain to mask the pain Veiled by thy silent pride, While faintly smiled the blanching lip That strove the pang to hide.
But oh! more blest if memory bring No record from the past, When careless word or glance of thine A withering shadow cast; If no loved one hath sorrowing wept, When through the quivering soul Thy bitter words went echoing Like thunder's sullen roll.
God's high and holy dwelling-place Those words went floating by, And still the echo wanders on Throughout eternity; And in the silence of the heart Their whisper still is heard: Jesus, with thy precious blood Blot out the idle word.
Are there no words that from the fount Of life and blessing come, Cheering the sorrowing soul with love, And leading wanderers home? O Christ! write Thou Thy words of peace Upon my heart, and be The guard of each winged messenger That upward flies to Thee.