When I was a child, I thought as a child, I spoke as a child, with a child's own reason, but now I am grown, the child's way is gone, is weathered by thought of a diff'rent season. Yet all that we know, and all that we sense, and all we discern at the mind's direction is partially seen as though it had been a mirror made dark by a cloud's reflection. And each is a soul that looks for the whole for God in our life, with its joy and grieving, to trust, as a child, to love, as a child, to know and be known beyond disbelieving. When prophets are dead and languages shed with knowledge all vanished, and mind's endeavor, there still will be faith, there still will be hope, and love, always love, that will last forever.