Beware the trumpet's brazen call
that echoes through the crowded square,
the practiced gesture, loud and tall,
performed so eyes may linger there.
Let not the hand that gives to need
pause first to catch approving stares,
nor let the prayer upon the street
be shaped for human ears to share.
For every deed that seeks the crowd
collects its coin in fleeting praise,
a hollow wage, a thin and loud
reward that fades in seven days.
The coin is spent when lips declare
how generous the giver stood;
the heart receives no further share
beyond the momentary good.
Yet in the chamber closed and still,
where only shadows mark the floor,
a different economy fulfills
the soul that knocks upon a door
unseen by any mortal eye.
There mercy flows without a name,
and kindness walks where none pass by
to carve its title into fame.
The alms dropped softly in the night,
the whispered intercession made
when sleep has claimed the city's sight,
the fast observed in secret shade—
these treasures gather where no thief
can reach with greedy, grasping hand.
They rise like incense, pure, relief
to One who sees and understands.
O human heart, so quick to pose,
so hungry for the world's applause,
consider now what posture shows
the deepest reverence, the cause
that moves the will when none observe.
The Father bends from heaven's height
not to the spectacle we serve
but to the hidden, quiet right.
He weighs no public ostentation,
no length of robe, no widened prayer;
His recompense is revelation
bestowed upon the secret prayer.
Let virtue bloom where no one treads,
let goodness grow in silent ground;
the root that drinks from hidden beds
will bear the fruit most heaven-bound.
So walk the narrow path alone
where pride has neither place nor voice,
and let your righteousness be known
only by its quiet choice.
For in the end, when all is weighed,
the loudest deed may weigh as dust;
the silent act, in shadow laid,
shall shine in light that cannot rust.
Turn inward, then, and close the gate
against the clamor of the street.
In secret chambers cultivate
the love that makes the giving sweet.
There find the Father waiting near,
His gaze upon the contrite soul;
and know the highest crown is here—
reward that makes the spirit whole.
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