Her soul's light shines through, But her soul cannot be seen. It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise And noble. - Joyce Kilmer

O Carpenter of Nazareth, Whose mother was a village maid, Shall we, Thy children, blow our breath In scorn on any humble trade? Have pity on our foolishness And give us eyes, that we may see Beneath the shopman's clumsy dress The splendor of humanity!

Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discover The angry scar to which the world was blind: And it was grief that made Mankind your lover, And it was grief that made you love Mankind.

When darkness hovers over earth
And day gives place to night,
Then lovers see the Milky Way
Gleam mystically bright,
And calling it the Way of Love
They hail it with delight.