When mirth is wielded as a blade,
And jests in cruel guise are made,
Take heed, O soul, and mark the sign:
These are no friends of heart divine.

They cloak their barbs in sportive play,
Yet wound the spirit on their way;
No balm of love their words bestow,
But thorns where gentle kindness should grow.

True friendship, like the Savior’s grace,
Speaks soft reproof with warm embrace;
It heals, it lifts, it bears the part
Of every burden on the heart.

But they who mock with laughter’s dart,
Who pierce the meek and bruise the heart,
Walk not the path our Lord has trod—
The narrow way that leads to God.

For broad the gate where scorn prevails,
And wide the road where malice sails;
Yet strait and hard the upward road
That bears the meek beneath His load.

Enter not, then, with such as these,
Whose “jokes” are chains that none may seize;
Choose rather friends whose tongues are pure,
Whose love endures, whose faith is sure.

Thus walk in light, with Christ thy guide,
On narrow paths where grace abide;
For cruel humor’s fleeting breath
Brings death to joy, and dark to death.

Let every word be seasoned sweet,
With mercy’s oil and wisdom meet;
So shall thy soul in peace abide,
And find the narrow way to life.