by DONALD C. BABCOCK

BEAUTY, like a spirit,
For a body sigheth,
Hovering always near it,
While its shadow lieth
For a little space
Over form and face.
But when glad youth dieth
Beauty fades apace.

How shall Beauty find
That for which it yearneth?
When within the mind
How to live it learneth,
Shining through the face
With an inward grace
Like a lamp that burneth
In a holy place.