O little hands! that, weak or strong, Have still so long to give or ask; Am weary, thinking of your task. O little hearts! that throb and beat Such limitless and strong desires; 15 Mine, that so long has glowed and burned, With passions into ashes turned, Now covers and conceals its fires. O little souls! as pure and white 20 Direct from heaven, their source divine; Refracted through the mist of years, With snow-white veil and garments as of flame, She stands before thee, who so long ago 1 church porch |