That smile; their young-od laughing eyes
Undimmed, still view, in sheer pretense
Of youth, their own sweet innocence.
I love old hands that trembling bless
Youth's wild impetuous duress;
That find in childhood's tangled cares,
Life's answers to unuttered prayers.
Old things to me are dear and best;
Old faith--that after life is rest;
That somehow, from above our will,
God works His gracious marvels still.
Published in The Crisis, March 1923