No lubrication of the nerves
Has ever yet been found,
For him who like a menial serves
Dull lesson's daily round;
But gnawing friction, stern and gaunt,
Tears flesh and brain away,
While ghosts nocturnal ever haunt
A soul with fell dismay,
Whose mercenary greed has led
Itself into a snare
That counts by scores its strangled dead,
Its hundreds, in despair.
He doubly lives who can forget
Himself and his own ease,
While toiling patiently to set
New gems in crowns he sees,
That may adorn some other head
Than that he calls his own,
And animate the germs wide spread
In seeds already sown.
To skim the surface of knowledge,
And seldom its root to reach,
Is a recipe one may offer
To direct "How Not To Teach."
NEEDS AND POWERS.
I know of no profession
'Mong profane or divine,
Excelling in its mission
The power embraced in mine.
It reaches earth and heaven
Through heart and soul of man,
It lives beyond the present—
Eternity doth span.
Mind in its first formation,
While in its plastic state,
Receives primal impressions
Which make it vile or great.
When soil of thought is fertile
And ready for the seeds,
It may bring precious fruitage,
Or vile and noxious weeds.