AFTER THE LAST LESSON
How wonderful he seems to me,
Now that the lessons are all read,
And, smiling through the stillness dim,
The child I taught lies dead!
I was his teacher yesterday—
Now, could his silent lips unclose,
What lessons might he teach to me
Of the vast truth he knows!
Last week he bent his anxious brows
O’er maps with puzzling Poles and Zone;
Now he, perchance, knows more than all
The scientists have known.
“Death humbleth all”—ah, say not so!
The man we scorn, the child we teach
Death in a moment places far
Past all earth’s lore can reach.
Death bringeth men unto their own!
He tears aside Life’s thin disguise,
And man’s true greatness, all unknown,
Stands clear before our eyes.
THE ROAD TO CHURCH
Rutted by wheels and scarred by hoofs
And by rude footsteps trod,
The old road winds through glimmering woods
Unto the house of God.
How many feet, assembling here
From each diverse abode,
Led by how many different aims,
Have walked this shadowy road!
How many sounds of woe and mirth
Have thrilled these green woods dim—
The funeral’s slow and solemn tramp,
The wedding’s joyous hymn.