Do we carve the air with silvered speech,
Only to let it fall,
A polished echo of promises,
Too brittle to stand tall?

We speak of love like it’s a flame,
A holy warmth, divine,
Yet hold it close within our hearts,
Afraid to let it shine.

What good is light that seeks no dark,
A river that will not flow?
What worth has love that moves the lips
But never dares to show?

The widow waits in silent need,
The orphan dreams alone,
The stranger walks a weary path
While we cast another stone.

The Christ we name bore heavy wood,
With thorns He crowned His care—
He lived the love we claim to know,
And calls us to do our share.

So let us cease the empty noise,
And mend the broken ground.
Love is the shape of hands and feet
Where faith is action bound.

For every word that we declare,
A step must match its sound.