A Plain Man’s Dream

Were I transported to some distant star
With fifty little children, girls and boys,
Or to some fabled land unknown, afar,
Where never sound could come of this world’s noise;

Our world begun anew, as when of yore
Sad Adam fled from Eden; I alone
The sole custodian of all human lore,—
No books to aid, all rules and records gone,—

What could I teach each tender, untaught child?
How much of this world’s wisdom could I give
To raise him from the savage, fierce and wild,
And train each soul a worthy life to live?

Plain human speech, some simple laws of life,
A little tillage, household arts a few;
The law of rectitude o’ercoming strife;
Things clean and sane, the simple and the true.

But of Man’s long, slow climb from Error’s reach,—
The hard-won, precious wisdom of the ages,—
What (and, alas, how little!) could I teach
Which changes men from savages to sages?

Some things I ’ve known I never would impart.
Somewhat I ’d tell of building, writing, preaching;
Some hints I ’d give on healing, science, art;
Love they would learn full soon without my teaching!