The Teacher's Dream
by W. H. Venable
from Poetic Pearls, 1887
quoted in Easy Homeschooling Companion
by Lorraine Curry
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 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 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 speaker's 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 gray,
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."
Even though this poem was written 123 years ago and shows evidence of its age in lines such as "I whipped that boy to-day," I still appreciate the reminder of how important it is--whether the task be mothering, educating my children, growing in my walk with God, or whatever--to keep a long-term perspective. Day-to-day duties can feel like drudgery; but in hindsight, something beautiful is being built. I want eyes to see that...but even more, the conviction to persevere, even when I don't see the end result.
But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded.