Our Profession and Other Poems
But gnawing friction, stern and gaunt,

Tears flesh and brain away,

While ghosts nocturnal ever haunt

A soul with fell dismay,

Whose mercenary greed has led

Itself into a snare

That counts by scores its strangled dead,

Its hundreds, in despair.

He doubly lives who can forget

Himself and his own ease,

While toiling patiently to set

New gems in crowns he sees,

That may adorn some other head

Than that he calls his own,

And animate the germs wide spread

In seeds already sown.

To skim the surface of knowledge,

And seldom its root to reach,

Is a recipe one may offer

To direct "How Not To Teach."


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