For half a century, and more, The feet of boys forever wore A pathway to the teacher's door. For fifty years he took his stand, A Latin grammar in his hand, And taught the children of the land. A general, a great divine, Yea, men whose names with lustre shine, Learned Latin at that simple shrine. For often here the great began To dream, to wish, to hope, to plan; Today was born tomorrow's man. And so the teacher grew to gray; And fifty years have passed away When someone happens on a day To pause before the teacher's door, The threshold that the children wore A half a century or more, And asks, as that good man appears: "Are you not weary, tired to tears, Of teaching Latin all the years?" A simple answer he employs To tell a teacher's holy joys: "I don't teach Latin -- I teach boys." God bless the teacher who can look Above, beyond, the open book, The one who teaching undertook Not merely for the Latin's sake But for the holy chance to make Tomorrow's man, a soul to wake; Whom nothing wearies, naught annoys, Who gladly all his life employs, Not teaching Latin -- teaching boys. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGINARY ANCESTORS: THE GIRAFFE WOMAN OF BURMA by MADELINE DEFREES I'VE NOTHING TO OFFER by DAVID IGNATOW MA LADY'S LIPS AM LIKE DE HONEY (NEGRO LOVE SONG) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |