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"The Teacher's Dream"
The
weary teacher sat alone
While
twilight gathered on;
And
not a sound was heard around,
The
boys and girls were gone.
The
weary teacher sat alone
Unnerved
and pale was he;
Bowed 'neath a load of care, he spoke
In
sad soliloquy.
"Another
round, another round
Of
labour thrown away—
Another
chain of toil and pain,
Dragged
through a tedious day.
Of
no avail is constant zeal,
Love's
sacrifice is loss,
The
hopes of morn, so golden, turn,
Each
evening, into dross.
I
squander on a barren field
My
strength, my life, my all;
The
seed I sow will never grow,
They
perish where they fall."
He
sighed, and low upon his hands,
His
aching brow he prest:
And
o'er his frame, ere long there came
A
soothing sense of rest.
And
then he lifted up his face,
And
started back aghast—
The
room by strange and sudden change
Assumed
proportions vast.
It
seemed a Senate-hall, and one
Addressed
a listening throng;
Each
burning word all bosoms stirred,
Applause
rose loud and long.
The
'wildered teacher thought he knew
The
speakers voice and look,
"And
for his name," said he, "the same
Is
in my record book."
The
stately Senate-hall dissolved—
A
church rose in its place,
Wherein
there stood a man of God,
Dispensing
words of grace.
And
though he spoke in solemn tone,
And
though his hair was grey,
The
teacher's thought was strangely wrought—
"I
whipped that boy to-day."
The
church, a phantasm, vanished soon—
What
saw the teacher then?
In
classic gloom of alcoved room
An
author plied his pen.
"My
idlest lad!" the teacher said,
Filled
with a new surprise—
"Shall
I behold his name enrolled
Among
the great and wise?"
The
vision of a cottage home,
The
teacher now descried;
A
mother's face illumed the place
Her
influence sanctified.
"A
miracle! A miracle!"
This
matron well I know,
Was
but a wild and careless child,
Not
half an hour ago.
"And
when she to her children speaks
Of
duty's golden rule,
Her
lips repeat, in accents sweet,
My
words to her at school."
The
scene was changed again, and lo,
The
school-house rude and old,
Upon
the wall did darkness fall,
The
evening air was cold.
"A
dream!" the sleeper, waking, said,
Then
paced along the floor,
And
whistling slow and soft, and low,
He
locked the school-house door.
And,
walking home, his heart was full
Of
peace and trust and love and praise;
And
singing slow and soft and low.
He
murmured, "After many days."
(W.
H. Venable, 1887)
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