Springboro Area History

Springboro, Warren County, Ohio

39°33′50″N, 84°13′41″W

 

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 oer 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 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 anew 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;

A singing slow and soft and low,

He murmured, “After many days.


            - W. H. Venable -


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