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