The builder built a temple; he wrought it with grace and skill.
Pillars, walls, and arches—fashioned to his will.
Men said as they saw its beauty, “It will never know decay.
Great is thy skill, O, builder, thy fame shall live for aye.”
The parent built a temple with loving and tender care,
Planning each arch with patience, laying each stone with prayer.
Few noticed the preparation; none knew of the wondrous plan.
The temple you built, dear teacher, was unseen by the eyes of man.
However, the builder’s temple is gone; it has crumbled into dust.
Low lies its stately pillars, food for consuming rust.
But the temple built by the parent will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple is a child’s immortal soul.
—adapted from Hattie Ross Hall