And though he heard the solemn voice,
And saw the beard of gray,
The teacher’s thought was strangely wrought
“My yearning heart to-day
“Wept for this youth whose wayward will
Against persuasion strove,
Compelling force, love’s last resource,
To stablish laws of love.”
The church, a phantasm, vanished soon;
What shadowy picture then?
In classic gloom of alcoved room
An author plied his pen.
“My idlest lad!” the master said,
Filled with a new surprise,
“Shall I behold his name enrolled
Among the great and wise?”
The vision of a cottage home
Was now through tears descried:
A mother’s face illumed the place
Her influence sanctified.
“A miracle! a miracle!
This matron well I know!
She was a wild and careless child
Not half an hour ago.
“Now, when she to her children speaks
Of duty’s golden rule,
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet,
My words to her at school.”
Dim on the teacher’s brain returned
The humble school-room 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 low and soft and slow,
He locked the school-house door.
His musing heart was reconciled
To love’s divine delays:
“The bread forth cast returns at last,
Lo, after many days!”