The prayers that rise like incense from the soul,
Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole;
These are not lost.
The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth,
When dreams had less of self and more of truth;
The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet,
Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet;
These are not lost.
The kindly plans devised for others' good,
So seldom guessed, so little understood;