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READ AT THE ANNUAL MEETING

OF THE

GIRLS' HIGH AND NORMAL SCHOOL ASSOCIATION,

JUNE, 1863,

BY MRS. FRANCES E. BEAL,

A GRADUATE OF THE SCHOOL.

POEM.

THREE years have passed, since on our festal day,
Within these walls, before such gentle critics,
Our first school-poet sang her woman's song,
In tones whose music lingers with us yet.
Should I, unworthy called to fill her place,
Weave in my humble song some tuneful strain
That sounds too like an echo from the past
Of her true poet singing, bear with me ;
My song will surely be the sweeter for it.

How strongly live within our memories

The lingering moments of that parting day, 'When, with reluctant feet," we left our childhood. Could any turn away with careless hearts?

No tender thoughts of all the happy days

And broken friendships we must leave behind?
No gratitude for love, and toil, and patience?
For acts that ill repaid them, no regrets?
No 'shrinking from the new, strange title, woman,
Stamped clear upon our brows, to be kept pure,
And high, and sacred, as the angels hold it?

Time passes on; where is the woman now?

What "beckoning life plan" calls her forth to strive? Perhaps, in even course, her quiet life

Flows on amid the happy scenes of home;

But even there no easy task awaits

The daughter, sister, faithful to her trust,
To bear upon her young, strong shoulders part
Of all the weary load of household cares;
To keep a pleasant word and helpful hand

For all the noisy, thankless little ones,
Who honor well their childhood's privilege

Of tearing clothes and solving hopeless problems;
To meet her weary father with a smile,

And shed around his home the tender grace

And sweet refinement the true woman bears.

Perhaps, through heat and cold, through storm and sun, She seeks some cheerless room, where day by day,

Her busy fingers hardly earn the right

Of simply living, toiling; that is all.

All, did I say? I spoke too lightly then.

'Tis a great thing to live, since Christ has lived,

And made the burden of our human life

So rich with wondrous possibilities,

That proudly we may wear it as a crown

Through God's great love, not bear it as a burden.
So she, whose outward life is weary toil,
May yet so live in steady cheerfulness,
So live in faith amid discouragements,
So live in gentleness 'mid hasty words,

That, though no sunbeam find the shadowed room, Angels may come and minister to her.

Perhaps in harder toil of brain and heart

She reigns the school-room's queen, a noble post
Indeed when these true counsellors are there,
Patience, and right, and firm integrity.

Nor deem thine thankless work, O! faithful teacher;
Thou wilt not find in all a varied life

A love more reverential, more unselfish,

Than some young hearts are laying at thy feet.
How strong their faith in thee; how loyally
They praise thy good, thy very failings make
A special sort of virtue; what sweet zeal
To serve thee speaks in all their artless ways.
Are their caresses, their attempts to change
For thy sake something that displeases thee,
Their blushing, eager pleasure when you meet
In unaccustomed places, no reward

For all the oft-repeated toil and care

Their sins of heedless childhood bring to thee?
E'en when they leave thee, in their loving hearts
A picture of thy better self is shrined,
To hold its place through changing years, until
Their children learn thy name to honor it.

Perhaps the changing spring-time of her life Bursts into sudden summer; the trees bloom, The birds sing in their branches, the light leaves Seem listening happy tidings from the breeze,