When from a mortal tongue a curse breaks free,
The whole of what is spoken turns to dust.
The truth it carried dies immediately—
Its power nullified by one vile gust.

The man who claims the Savior’s holy Name
Yet lets corruption from his lips be heard
Finds every sentence robbed of rightful claim,
As though he never uttered any word.

For Christ, the Word made flesh, spoke ever clean;
No oath of darkness marred His gentle voice.
He healed the sick, forgave, and made serene—
His every syllable was life, not noise.

So let the faithful guard the sacred gate,
And keep the well of speech both pure and bright.
Lest hasty poison should invalidate
The very truth that should have brought them light.

O Lord, who tamed the waves and stilled the storm,
Set Thou a watch upon each pilgrim’s tongue,
That what he speaks may stand, unharmed, unsworn,
And rise to glorify the Risen One. Amen.