A Parent's Plea

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 26, 1911

My little boy is eight years old, He goes to school each day; He doesn't mind the tasks they set — They seem to him but play. He heads his class at raffia work, And also takes the lead At making little paper boats — But I wish that he could read.

They teach him physiology, And, ah, it chills our hearts To hear our prattling innocent Mix up his inward parts! He also learns astronomy, And names the stars by night. Of course he's very up-to-date — But I wish that he could write.

They teach him things botanical; They teach him how to draw; He babbles of mythology, And gravitation's law; The discoveries of science With him are quite a fad; They tell me he's a clever boy — But I wish that he could add. — Life.