In Modesty
Sonnet I – In Humble Light
Claim not your soul is pure, nor boast of right—
Let mercy guide the work your hands pursue.
And in the dark, become a steady light,
Not for the praise of men, but to be true.

The Savior taught with bread and wine in hand,
With humble words and love that bore great cost.
He called the weary, bade them understand,
And sought the wandering sheep the world had lost.

So in the market, hill, or silent square,
Let gentle deeds reflect what lives within.
Let love be shown in every act of care,
Not shouted loud, but free from boast or sin.

For God beholds the heart, not worldly fame—
Walk brave in faith, and fear not scorn or shame.

Sonnet II – The Lamb’s Quiet Mercy
A lamb reveals no hunger as it eats,
Nor cries aloud to boast of what it gives.
Yet from its life, comes wool and milk so sweet—
A quiet love that in its silence lives.

In stillness grows its virtue, soft and true,
Not flaunted in the crowd’s demanding eye.
Its fleece, like mercy, pure in form and hue,
Reflects a grace that lifts the soul on high.

So let our lives, in meekness, fully shine—
Through kindness done, though none may ever know.
Each deed, like wool, may clothe a world in time,
feed the hungry earth with the faith we show.

What’s given lowly, Heaven will raise high—
The smallest gifts catch angels passing by.

Sonnet III – The Hidden Gift
Let not the left ear hear the right hand’s deed,
When mercy flows or silent gifts are laid.
Do good unseen; sow love without the need
For trumpets loud or accolades repaid.

Be still in strength, in patience bold and clear,
And let your temperance be undefiled.
Not glory sought, nor stories crowds may hear,
But treasure stored, no moth or thief reviled.

For what endures is not the praise of men,
But hearts transformed by grace they cannot shame.
So walk unseen and serve again, again—
Not seeking light, but giving just the same.

God’s eye will find what no one else can see,
And mark your love through all eternity.

Sonnet IV – The Quiet Joy of Faith
So live with grace, and break your bread with care,
And lift no banner when you choose to fast.
The joy of God is folded gently there,
A faithful fruit that blooms and yet shall last.

Let prayer be private, offered soft and low,
And let your tears be caught in secret place.
The flower hidden under winter’s snow
Will rise in spring and show its silent grace.

Not every virtue calls for trumpet sound—
Not every fast requires a weeping crowd.
Let peace within be rich, though none around
May see you clothed in mercy unavowed.

For Heaven blooms where humble hearts abide—
And glory waits where ego steps aside.