Do not cast pearls where muddy hooves tromp free,
Nor spill your treasure in the mire of scorn,
For swine, unseeing, trample grace with glee,
And rend the giver, leaving soul forlorn.
The heart’s fine gems, by Christ’s own blood refined,
Deserve the meek who seek His holy face,
Not brutes who wallow, deaf and dumb and blind,
To truth that shines through time and boundless space.
Yet still we yearn to share the sacred light,
To sow where stony fields refuse to bloom,
But wisdom bids us guard what’s pure and right,
Lest holy gifts meet undeservèd doom.
So hold your pearls for those with ears to hear,
And save your song for souls who hold it dear.