No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar

No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar

From his cradle
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one,
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and read more

From his cradle
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one,
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;
Lofty and sour to them that loved him not,
But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.

Rocking on a lazy billow
With roaming eyes,
Cushioned on a dreamy pillow,
Thou read more

Rocking on a lazy billow
With roaming eyes,
Cushioned on a dreamy pillow,
Thou art now wise.
Wake the power within thee slumbering,
Trim the plot that's in thy keeping,
Thou wilt bless the task when reaping
Sweet labour's prize.

The world's great men have not commonly been great scholars, nor
its great scholars great men.

The world's great men have not commonly been great scholars, nor
its great scholars great men.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

Today's students can put dope in their veins or hope in their brains. If they can conceive it and believe read more

Today's students can put dope in their veins or hope in their brains. If they can conceive it and believe it, they can achieve it. They must know it is not their aptitude but their attitude that will determine their altitude.

Experience is the best of schoolmasters, only the school-fees are
heavy.

Experience is the best of schoolmasters, only the school-fees are
heavy.

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
read more

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?