In shadowed corners, they weave their grace,
A whispered prayer, a gentle face.
No crowds to cheer, no tales retold,
Their love’s a fire that warms the cold.

Through dusty fields or lampless streets,
Their footsteps fall where silence meets.
A meal for the hungry, a hand to the lost,
They bear their cross, unmindful of cost.

No worldly fame their deeds proclaim,
No heralded songs exalt their name.
Yet every tear they wipe away
Blooms radiant in eternal day.

The world may pass their names unknown,
Yet heaven sees the light they’ve shown.
For no earth’s crown their souls did pause—
They lived alone for Heaven’s applause.