THOUGH I were gifted with an angel's tongue,
And voice like that with which the prophets sung,
Yet if mild charity were not within,
'T were all an impious mockery and sin.

Though I the gift of prophecy possessed,
And faith like that which Abraham professed,
They all were like a tinkling cymbal's sound,
If meek-eyed charity did not abound.

Though I to feed the poor my goods bestow,
And to the flames my body I should throw,
Yet the vain act would never cover sin,
If heaven-born charity were not within.