A builder built a temple;�
He wrought it with care and skill.�
Pillars and doors and arches,�
All fashioned to work his will.
And men said, as they saw its beauty,
�"It shall never decay.
Great is thy skill, O builder! �Thy fame shall endure for aye."

A mother built a temple with infinite loving care,
Planning each arch with patience,
Loving each stone with prayer.
� No one praised her unceasing effort,
No one knew of her wonderous plan.
For the temple the mother built,
Was unseen by the eyes of man.

Gone is the builder's temple -- Crumbled into the dust:
Low lies each stately pillar,� Food for consuming rust.
But the temple the mother built will last while the ages roll.
For the beautiful unseen temple,
was a child's immortal soul