To A Teacher.
In time's swift race another course is run,
And you can rest tonight___the honors won.
It matters not to you how glide away
The fleeting years, for you can ever say,
There is no gleam of morn or noon-day sun
But views some noble work that you have done
In making mind and soul from human clay.
O, teacher, thou catholicon of earth,
Thou moulder of the higher destiny,
Lift up the mind of youth to nobler worth.
Thy spirit is akin to Deity.
The soul that's dead give thou a newer birth.
The goal of man is immortality.
__Colfax Burgoyne Harman
Poems Of Sentiment
Colfax Burgoyne Harman
(Valley Falls, Kansas: Harman Publishing. 1905)