The Parents' Review

A Monthly Magazine of Home-Training and Culture

A Class

Six little boys in a row,
           Learning their dates and their kings;
Some quick, and some-very slow,
           Pondering irrelevant things.
Six at their desks every day
           Learning, or make blots, or spill ink;
This is the small schoolboy's way,
           Whilst he is trying to think.
*          *            *            *            *
Six little boys go to play
           After the "lines" are all done;
Proud if their schoolfellows say,
           "Bravo! That little chap's won!"
Then when the daylight dies out,
           Busy exchanges are made:
Stamps travel quickly about,
           Butterflies' merits are weighed.
Business more urgent is done,
           To the small schoolboy's clear mind,
Than did that far-off King John,
           When Magna Charta he signed.
Six little boys in their beds,
           Sleeping all cobwebs away,
While Night her sweet mantle spreads
           O'er them till dawns the next day.
Ah! 'tis a world of its own,
           School-life, this life of our youth;
There many harvests are sown,
           Ripening to falsehood or truth.
*          *            *            *            *
Dear little boys in their beds !
           Tread softly, put out the light;
God bless the six curly heads,
           Sweet be their dreaming tonight!