O little hands! that, weak or strong,
Have still to serve or rule so long,

Have still so long to give or ask;
I, who so much with book and pen 10
Have toiled among my fellow-men,

Am weary, thinking of your task.

O little hearts! that throb and beat
With such impatient, feverish heat,

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
And crystalline as rays of light

20

Direct from heaven, their source divine;

Refracted through the mist of years,
How red my setting sun appears,
How lurid looks this soul of mine!

With snow-white veil and garments as of flame,

She stands before thee, who so long

ago

1 church porch

again