"IS IT TRUE?"
BY MORGAN GROWTH.
She stood where the winter sunlight
Seemed opening into the skies—
(She was only a little girl, you see,
And her teacher was old and wise).
"You never can be promoted,"
That wise, wise teacher said,
"For the lesson you need the most of all
You leave unlearned, little maid."
"I didn't like to say it"—
Her answer was grave, and slow—
"That the earth goes whirling 'round like a ball,
For I don't see how they know.
"I'll write it down on my paper,
(The one that I hand to you)
But when I die I shall find the Lord,
And ask Him if it's true."
The classes were called without her,
And the schooldays come and go,
And other children wonder and wait—
It is hers alone to know.
Sometimes, in the empty schoolroom,
The teacher is left alone
With the echoes that linger about the place
And call from stone to stone.
And, lo, with this world's learning
Before his wondering view,
He goes to his Lord—his all-wise Lord,
And asks Him if it's true.
—From Child-Study Monthly.