The School

We are scholars, nothing but scholars,
Little children at school,
Learning our daily lessons,
Subject to law and rule.

Life is the School, and the Master
Is the Man Jesus Christ;
We are His charity scholars,
His the teaching unpriced.
 

Slowly we learn all His patience
Is hourly put to the test:
But often the slowest and dullest,
He pities, and loves the best.
 

Still, we sit at the feet of our Master,
Very low at His feet,
Study the lessons He sets us,
Sometimes lessons repeat.
 

Some of the lessons are pleasant,
Pleasant and easy to learn;
The page of our task-book simple,
Simple and easy to turn.
 

But anon the reading is painful,
Studied ‘mid sighing and tears;
We stammer and falter over it,
Do not learn it for years.

Yet that is no fault of the Master;
All His lessons are good;
Only our childish folly
Leaves them misunderstood.

And still we go on, learning,
And learning to love our school;
Learning to love our Master,
Learning to love His rule.

And by and by, we children
Shall grow into perfect men,
And the loving, patient Master
From school will dismiss us then.

No more tedious lessons,
No more sighing and tears,
But a bound into home immortal,
And blessed, blessed years!

~ From Golden Hours: Heart-Hymns of the Christian Life

[Apparently the closing lines to this poem are found on Mrs. Prentiss' tombstone. ~mr]