A builder buildeth a temple,
he wrought it with grace and skill.
Pillars and beams and arches,
all fashioned to work his will.
Men said as they saw its beauty,
"He shall never know decay."
Great is thy skill oh builder,
Thy fame shall endure for age.
A mother buildeth a temple,
with loving and infinate care.
Planning each arch with patience,
laying each stone with prayer.
None praised her unceasing efforts,
None knew of her wonderous plan.
For the temple the mother buildeth,
was unseen by the eye of man.
Gone is the builder's temple,
crumbled into the dust.
Low thus each stately pillar,
food for consuming rust.
But the temple the mother buildeth,
will last while the ages roll.
For that beautiful unseen temple,
Was a child's immortal soul.
by Hattie Hall