HE NEVER wandered far from his own town,
The little hamlet where he lived and died,
And yet his pupils traveled up and down
The whole wide world of town and countryside.
He sought no honor to adorn his name
Nor dreamed of crowns that tarnish and grow dim;
But those he taught achieved undying fame
And in their triumph hour remembered him.
He had no time to mold the wide world’s life
Or take a hand in the affairs of state;
But others did he send into the strife
And through them helped to shape his people’s fate.
He won no earthly riches for himself.
He had no time to waste in seeking gold
But every day bestowed on him a pelf
Of love whose value never could be told.
[Poem is on cover page with the following additional text: The Sunday
School Journal, September 1923. The cover has an illustration of a
rural scene. Bottom third is landscape. A dirt road in the foreground
gradually descends into a town having a church on its outskirts. The
road is lined with bushes. Fields extend from the bushes. A large oak
tree in the foreground frames the scene’s left side and top half.]