In Sunday School.
Some score or so of little lads,1
Whose ages range from four to seven2
(Here truth, uncompromising, adds3
That one, the booby, is eleven),4
In suits of various shapes and size—5
The most of them are minus collars—6
With restless limbs and eager eyes :7
You see my class of Sunday scholars.8
The very simplest lessons theirs—9
A verse or two, a text repeated ;10
Each brow an anxious pucker wears11
Until the weighty task’s completed.12
Then teacher’s turn—and once again13
She tells the ancient Bible story14
Of Daniel in the lions’ den,15
Or Solomon in all his glory16
Or how the kindly Shunammite,17
Who built her guest the little study,18
Was promised, to her heart’s delight,19
‘ A what ?’ — ‘ A wee machine and cuddy.’20
But when I read how Samson found21
A lion in the way and slew it,22
A tender infant’s boasts resound,23
‘ Gie me a poker and I’ll do it ! ’24
Then comes the parting hymn, which brings25
An end to all my Sunday labour ;26
Each youngster finds the place, and sings27
A little louder than his neighbour.28
But as they straggle out of school,29
One weeps because he’s lost his bonnet—30
A younger brother, as a rule,31
Is sitting all the time upon it.32
Yet sometimes in these childish eyes33
There comes a light, a thought, and straightway34
They seem to pierce earth’s cloudy skies,35
And gaze beyond the Golden Gateway.36
And surely to a little child37
The promise long ago was given :38
‘ Of such ’— the Master turned and smiled—39
‘ The kingdom is of Heaven.’40