Kindness speaks with gentle words,
a smile, a hand outstretched,
a fleeting warmth that soothes the wound
but does not mend the flesh.

Yet love—true love—descends beneath,
where kindness fears to tread.
It bears the weight of others’ pain,
pours wine where wounds have bled.

Kindness offers what is safe,
what costs the giver naught,
but love will kneel, embrace the cross,
no mercy left unsought.

For kindness gives, then steps away,
its duty kindly done,
but love stays near, through fire and dark,
until the race is run.

Kindness comforts for a time,
but love remakes the soul,
restoring what was lost to sin,
redeeming, making whole.

Oh, let me love as Christ has loved,
not just with words or deeds,
but with a heart that breaks and bends,
that serves and intercedes.

For love alone will cleanse the stain,
break chains and set men free—
not kindness, though it shines so bright,
but love, Love crucified for me.