A Quiet Heart

A Poem Inspired by James 1:19-21

When morning breaks upon the waking field,

And light walks softly through the trembling air,

The world begins its chorus without haste—

The sparrow’s call, the whispering of leaves,

The patient river speaking to the stones.

So too the soul must learn a gentler art:

To hear before it answers to the world.

For many tongues are swift as summer storms,

They flash like lightning through the crowded day,

And words fall sharp as hail on tender ground.

Yet wisdom does not dwell in hurried speech,

Nor in the heat of unrestrained reply;

She waits beside the still and listening heart,

Where thought grows deep and patience takes its root.

Blessed is the one whose ears are open wide,

Who gathers every murmur of the truth,

Who lets another’s voice complete its course

Before the echo rises from his lips.

Such listening is a lantern in the dark,

A quiet harbor from the winds of pride,

A fertile soil where understanding grows.

But anger, like a restless fire untamed,

Consumes the house it claims to warm and guard.

It leaps from spark to flame with reckless joy,

And leaves behind the ashes of regret.

No harvest of the righteous springs from wrath;

The fields it touches yield but bitter grain,

And thorny words that wound both friend and foe.

Therefore cast aside the garments stained with spite,

The ragged cloak of malice and contempt.

Lay down the stones of pride beside the road,

And cleanse the chamber of the inward man.

For in the quiet garden of the heart

There waits a seed more precious than all gold—

A living word the heavens once have sown.

It falls not with the thunder’s boastful cry,

Nor with the banners of triumphant noise,

But like the rain that visits thirsty earth—

Unseen, yet filling every hidden root.

Receive it then with meek and willing hands,

As farmers welcome spring upon their fields,

And guard its life within the silent soil.

For when the word is planted deep and true,

It grows with gentle strength through passing years.

Its branches stretch through sorrow and through joy,

Its leaves bring shade to wandering hearts in need.

And in its season fruit of mercy comes—

A peace no storm of anger can destroy,

A wisdom born of listening and grace.

So walk the humble road through all your days:

Be swift to hear the quiet voice of truth,

Be slow to speak the fire of careless words,

Be slow to kindle anger in the soul.

And let the planted word within you rise

Like dawn unfolding over silent hills,

Until your life becomes its living light.