Good Lady Mercy wears ribbons of rose and speaks soft as the breeze wherever she goes. “Be gentle!" "Be tender!" "Be loving!" "Be kind!” were stitched upon banners that she left behind. She fed little sparrows and watered each flower and praised her own heart twelve times in the hour. “No creature,” she whispered, “should suffer or fear.” Then somebody disagreed where she could hear. Kindness! Sweet kindness! So gentle and mild! Speak like a mother and smile like a child! Love every neighbor! Forgive every wrong! Provided, of course, that they all play along! A cobbler once questioned a rule she proposed. She gasped at the violence his question exposed. “How hateful! How vicious! How terribly mean! remove this poor fellow before he is seen!” They dragged him away while she dabbed at her eyes. “I hate doing this, but compassion is wise. For keeping him here might make others feel bad—So hurting him thus is the kindest choice had.” Kindness! Sweet kindness! Mercy for all! Hang pretty flowers all over the wall! But should you offend us, then mercy is through— It’s perfectly kind to be cruel unto you! Her council wore lavender, powder, and lace with comforting slogans adorning the place. “No anger!" "No hatred!" "No cruelty here!” They wrote while inventing new reasons for fear. They ruined a baker. They banished a bard. They called themselves tender while striking them hard. And each little cruelty somehow became an act of compassion once given a name. The jester then asked her, “Forgive me, my dame—what virtue is virtue when nothing’s at stake? A saint while contented? A dove when adored? How kind is a hand that has never been scored? Can patience be measured when no one annoys? Is mercy just something for people one enjoys? If love disappears when another says ‘No,’ Was love ever there—or merely the show?” Kindness! Sweet kindness! Now fall into line! We’ll love you completely if you think like our kind! Mercy! Compassion! Oh hear how we sing! While sharpening axes for troublesome things! It costs very little to smile at a friend. It costs rather more when affection must bend. To pardon the person who wounded your pride—To suffer annoyance and still stand beside. For kindness is easy when kindness is free—when no one asks patience or sacrifice thee. But virtue is tested when payment comes due—When kindness costs something to somebody who’s you. Kindness! Sweet kindness! Flowers in bloom! Pastel-colored banners hung over the room! And if you object to the things that we do— Why, darling, that proves we were right about you! So Lady Mercy still smiles from her chair with flowers and ribbons festooning her hair. She speaks about love with a tear in her eye while listing the people to silence nearby. The fool gives a bow: “What a marvelous feat! To make every vengeance compassionate-sweet! You’ve mastered a trick I could never quite do: To love all mankind—save the ones known to you.” Kindness! True kindness! Hardest by far! To love without asking how pleasant they are. To answer with mercy when mercy costs dear— Not merely when everyone’s pleasant and near. Kindness! True kindness! No ribbons required! No slogans, no banners, no halo desired! For anyone’s gentle when nothing goes wrong— The test comes when loving means bearing along. So spare me the sweetness you claim as your due if “love everyone” means “except people like you.” The fool tips his cap as he bids you adieu: “Be kind,” says the lady. “…Unless it’s to you.”
