When words that breathe in storied volumes
Stained by guilt become clanging cymbals
As loveless shepherds of the church be
Who trample over hearths, homeless leave
Their sons, their daughters, cold hearts unwarmed
By trophied honor, noxious fumes their legacy.

From the pulpit come your soundings,
O man of God and woman too, what will your
Words of sounding brass do but betray your Master
With false heart, a kiss from lips of self-love,
Self-glory, when a servant you proclaim to be?

1 Corinthians 13: 1-3
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.