If I should speak with tongues of men and skies,
Yet lack the heart where love’s sweet river flows,
My words are clanging gongs, a hollow prize,
A fleeting noise where no true meaning grows.
Love suffers long, is kind, and envies not,
It boasts no pride, nor seeks its selfish gain,
In anger’s heat, it keeps no bitter slot,
But bears all things through joy and piercing pain.
Though prophecies may fade, and knowledge cease,
Love stands unbowed, eternal in its frame,
A child’s small faith may grow to find its peace,
Yet love alone perfects the soul’s acclaim.
So faith and hope abide, a sacred pair,
But love, the greatest, reigns beyond compare.