Poetry
The Fruits of the Spirit An original poem
When the Spirit dwells within my heart, He plants a garden, a sacred art, Nine precious fruits begin to grow, A harvest only His love can sow.
Love is the root, the foundation laid, The tender mercy that never fades, It gives and gives without a trace, A reflection of the Master’s grace.
Joy is the sunshine after rain, A steady hope that nullifies pain, Not based on what the world may bring, But rooted in the eternal King.