When hissing tongues in venom swirl and sting,
And sland’rous words like serpents twist the air,
May we be those esteeming others higher than ourselves,
And count each neighbor worthier than our care.

Not born of pride or selfish vain conceit,
Nor forged in hollow show for mortal eyes,
But in true lowliness, where grace is sweet,
We lift the least and silence our own cries.

Let swirling gales of spite their fury spend,
And tempests rage where envy loves to dwell;
We stand unmoved, as lights that heaven send,
Where meekness reigns and pride is cast away.