<h2><SPAN name="page153"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE WORD</h2>
<p class="poetry">Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song,<br/>
Or a flame, or a two-edged sword;<br/>
Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume,<br/>
Or a drop of gall, is a word.</p>
<p class="poetry">You may choose your word like a connoisseur,<br/>
And polish it up with art,<br/>
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,<br/>
Is the word that comes from the heart.</p>
<p class="poetry">You may work on your word a thousand weeks,<br/>
But it will not glow like one<br/>
That all unsought, leaps forth white hot,<br/>
When the fountains of feeling run.</p>
<p class="poetry">You may hammer away on the anvil of thought,<br/>
And fashion your word with care,<br/>
But unless you are stirred to the depths, that word<br/>
Shall die on the empty air.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page154"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
154</span>For the word that comes from the brain alone,<br/>
Alone to the brain will speed;<br/>
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,<br/>
Oh! that is the word men heed.</p>
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