Methods in Primary Schools by W. H. Venable

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · May 7, 1908

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 85, No. 19.

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Methods in Primary Schools

By W. H. Venable

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 yoke of care, he spoke In sad soliloquy:—

“Another round, another round Of labor 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 seeds 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, erelong, there came A soothing sense of rest. And then he lifted up his face, But 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 speaker’s voice and look. “And for his name,” said he, “the same Is on 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 gray, The teacher’s thought was strangely wrought; “I whipped that boy to-day.”

The church, a phantom, 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 illumined 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 schoolhouse 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 schoolhouse door.

And walking home, his heart was full Of peace and trust and praise; And singing slow and soft and low, He murmured: “After many days.”

—W. H. Venable.