We look for thee within the maid,
      With beauty, grace, and charm,
    But find thy flight she hath not stayed,
      Nor doth she feel alarm.

    Then in the lad, whose noble brow
      Thy presence might suggest;
    With closer view we must allow
      By thee he is not blest.

    E’en when we look within the child
      And laud his graces sweet,
    We find his mind so soon defiled
      For thee ’tis no retreat.

    “And why?” we ask, “oh! why is this? 
      Such need and dearth abound. 
    Oh! why in homes of promised bliss
      May not this gem be found?”

    The mystery, so deep, so great,
      Is simply lack of prayer;
    Is bidding timely warning wait
    For daily toil and care.

    Allowing things that crumble, waste,
      Our whole attention claim,
    We cause sweet Innocence in haste
    To leave our homes to shame.

    But thee, sweet grace, we find in some—­
      Thank God thou art not lost!—­
    We see thee in the Christian home
      As royal guest and host.

    We note the mother as she pleads
      For counsel from God’s throne,
    Then goes with wisdom that she needs
      And strength to make it known.

    We watch the child in this true home,
      And in its face so fair
    We recognise what doth become
      A faithful mother’s prayer.

    Sweet Innocence! may we extol,
      Within the home, thy art;
    Thy power to beautify the soul,
      To teach the pure in heart.

    Thou gift divine! thou fairest gem! 
      Thy presence may we crave,
    That thou mayst grace our diadem
      In life beyond the grave.

    Reveal, O grace, unto the world
      Thy beauties rich and rare,
    That all may understand and know
      What mothers find in prayer_.