The Teacher's Honor



The angel choir his praise may chant in rapturous songs above,
And through the universe his power adoringly proclaim;
But they can never win for Christ a child's first ardent love,
Nor whisper in an infant's ear the Savior's precious name.

Oh happy teacher to whose trust this glorious work is given,
A work unshared by those who dwell amid the joys of heaven.

"Feed, feed my lambs!" in all its sweet persuasiveness today,
This message from a Savior's lips, Oh Christian reaches thee.
Ask not, "And what shall others do?" but help without delay,
To train the children of your class in peace and purity.

And though, perchance, you may not call earth's fading laurel thine,
Yet, bright as stars that gem night's brows, you shall forever shine.

Taken from Our Sunday School Scrap Book, by Daniel Wise, 1866