Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 8

I could not remain in the house by the road And watch as the toilers go on, Their faces beclouded with pain and with sin, So burdened, their strength nearly gone.

I'll go to their side, I'll speak in good cheer, I'll help them to carry their load; And I'll smile at the man in the house by the way, As I walk with the crowd in the road.

Out there in the road that goes by the house, Where the poet is singing his song, I'll walk and I'll work midst the heat of the day, And I'll help falling brothers along-- Too busy to live in the house by the way, Too happy for such an abode.

And my heart sings its praise to the Master of all, Who is helping me serve in the road.

_Walter J. Gresham._

If We Understood

Could we but draw back the curtains That surround each other's lives, See the naked heart and spirit, Know what spur the action gives, Often we should find it better, Purer than we judged we should, We should love each other better, If we only understood.

Could we judge all deeds by motives, See the good and bad within, Often we should love the sinner All the while we loathe the sin; Could we know the powers working To o'erthrow integrity, We should judge each other's errors With more patient charity.

If we knew the cares and trials, Knew the effort all in vain, And the bitter disappointment, Understood the loss and gain-- Would the grim, eternal roughness Seem--I wonder--just the same?

Should we help where now we hinder, Should we pity where we blame?

Ah! we judge each other harshly, Knowing not life's hidden force; Knowing not the fount of action Is less turbid at its source; Seeing not amid the evil All the golden grains of good; Oh! we'd love each other better, If we only understood.

A Laugh in Church

She sat on the sliding cushion, The dear, wee woman of four; Her feet, in their shiny slippers, Hung dangling over the floor.

She meant to be good; she had promised, And so, with her big, brown eyes, She stared at the meeting-house windows And counted the crawling flies.

She looked far up at the preacher, But she thought of the honey bees Droning away at the blossoms That whitened the cherry trees.

She thought of a broken basket, Where, curled in a dusky heap, _Three sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears Lay snuggled and fast asleep._

Such soft warm bodies to cuddle, Such queer little hearts to beat, Such swift, round tongues to kiss, Such sprawling, cushiony feet; She could feel in her clasping fingers The touch of a satiny skin And a cold wet nose exploring The dimples under her chin.

Then a sudden ripple of laughter Ran over the parted lips So quick that she could not catch it With her rosy finger-tips.

The people whispered, "Bless the child,"

As each one waked from a nap, But the dear, wee woman hid her face For shame in her mother's lap.

"One, Two, Three!"

It was an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy that was half past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see.

She couldn't go running and jumping, And the boy, no more could he; For he was a thin little fellow, With a thin little twisted knee,

They sat in the yellow sunlight, Out under the maple-tree; And the game that they played I'll tell you, Just as it was told to me.

It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to be-- With an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy with a twisted knee.

The boy would bend his face down On his one little sound right knee, And he'd guess where she was hiding, In guesses One, Two, Three!

"You are in the china-closet!"

He would cry, and laugh with glee-- It wasn't the china-closet; But he still had Two and Three.

"You are up in Papa's big bedroom, In the chest with the queer old key!"

And she said: "You are _warm_ and _warmer_; But you're not quite right," said she.

"It can't be the little cupboard Where Mamma's things used to be-- So it must be the clothes-press, Gran'ma!"

And he found her with his Three.

Then she covered her face with her fingers, That were wrinkled and white and wee, And she guessed where the boy was hiding, With a One and a Two and a Three.

And they never had stirred from their places, Right under the maple-tree-- This old, old, old, old lady, And the boy with the lame little knee-- This dear, dear, dear old lady, And the boy who was half past three.

_Henry Cuyler Bunner._

Unawares

They said, "The Master is coming To honor the town to-day, And none can tell at what house or home The Master will choose to stay."

And I thought while my heart beat wildly, What if He should come to mine, How would I strive to entertain And honor the Guest Divine!

And straight I turned to toiling To make my house more neat; I swept, and polished, and garnished.

And decked it with blossoms sweet.

I was troubled for fear the Master Might come ere my work was done, And I hasted and worked the faster, And watched the hurrying sun.

But right in the midst of my duties A woman came to my door; She had come to tell me her sorrows And my comfort and aid to implore, And I said, "I cannot listen Nor help you any, to-day; I have greater things to attend to."

And the pleader turned away.

But soon there came another-- A cripple, thin, pale and gray-- And said, "Oh, let me stop and rest A while in your house, I pray!

I have traveled far since morning, I am hungry, and faint, and weak; My heart is full of misery, And comfort and help I seek."

And I cried, "I am grieved and sorry, But I cannot help you to-day.

I look for a great and n.o.ble Guest,"

And the cripple went away; And the day wore onward swiftly-- And my task was nearly done, And a prayer was ever in my heart That the Master to me might come.

And I thought I would spring to meet Him, And serve him with utmost care, When a little child stood by me With a face so sweet and fair-- Sweet, but with marks of teardrops-- And his clothes were tattered and old; A finger was bruised and bleeding, And his little bare feet were cold.

And I said, "I'm sorry for you-- You are sorely in need of care; But I cannot stop to give it, You must hasten otherwhere."

And at the words, a shadow Swept o'er his blue-veined brow,-- "Someone will feed and clothe you, dear, But I am too busy now."