Not Lost.
The look of sympathy, the gentle word1
Spoken so low that only Angels heard ;2
The secret act of pure self-sacrifice,3
Unseen by men, but marked by Angels’ eyes ;4
These are not lost.5
The sacred music of a tender strain6
Wrung from a poet’s heart by grief and pain,7
And chanted timidly, with doubt and fear,8
To busy crowds who scarcely pause to hear,9
It is not lost.10
The silent tears that fall at dead of night11
Over soiled robes which once were pure and white ;12
The prayers that rise like incense from the soul,13
Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole ;14
These are not lost.15
The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth,16
When dreams had less of self and more of truth ;17
The childlike faith so tranquil and so sweet,18
Which sat like Mary at the Master’s feet ;19
These are not lost.20
The kindly plans devised for others’ good,21
So seldom guessed, so little understood ;22
The quiet stedfast love that strove to win23
Some wanderer from the woeful ways of sin ;24
These are not lost.25
Not lost, O Lord, for in Thy city bright,26
Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light ;27
And things long hidden from our gaze below,28
Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know29
They were not lost.30