A bright, rambunctious and promising youth --
The day he learned something that some men still fear,
A dire – yes, awful! yet wonderful truth.
And incomprehensible Word, God's own Son,
Please draw us along, so that, faithful and tried,
When we have endured all confusion and pain,
We may join with your Father in joy at his side.
One day at his homework, and feeling quite bored
With grammar and syntax and long Latin words,
This boy left his books in his cell, making towards
His dear father's room. Careful not to be heard,
For his father, he knew, would want him to go
And to sit still and work, to write and to read.
"Though I want to talk, he'll say, 'Study!' I know."
But youth allows youthful desire to lead.
He stole up the stairs, as quiet as he could
And, thank Heaven! the door was already cracked.
He poked in his head, through dark beams of wood,
And thought to himself, "Should I stay, or go back?"
Though, peaking inside, he promptly withdrew
His question, so puzzled he was by the sight
Of his dad, all alone, in the dark, silent room,
His face with happiness lit very bright.
Bright? Rather, beaming! At what, he knew not!
But beaming as if he'd been given some prize,
Or caught some great creature that long he had sought,
So great was the gladness that beamed in his eyes.
Forgetting his fear, now totally curious,
Into the dimly lit room ran the boy,
For he had to know -- though his father be furious --
What was the source and the cause of his joy.
"Papa, may I take a break for a minute?
I'm hungry and tired and practically through…
I saw the dark room, and your face, bright within it...
Well, you seem so happy… What happened to you!?"
"Good morning, my boy, I thought that was you;
Why back there, all skulking in shadows and cracks?
You noticed the clock, which says ten, and not two,
Or did you, oblivious, simply lose track?"
"Well, yes, dad, I guess, dad. I just want to rest!
I'm sorry I snuck in. Can we break and talk?
I'm learning my Latin… Well, trying my best…
But Grammar's as hard and as dry as a rock!
"Declensions are dreadful, and vocab's a bore!
This syntax is practically stealing my breath!
When I get through this book, you'll buy me two more…
But by then I fear that the price will be death!"
"So tell me, but briefly, sir, if you be kind,
Please give me this one time but one small reprieve.
Just tell me, what joyousness brightens your mind;
Your speech, and my hearing, will be my relief."
"My dear, young, silly, and lovable son
Who taught you so to exaggerate?
An hour of study, and then you are done?
Is that all the Latin that you'll tolerate?
"To lessons to-day, you may claim you're adverse,
But you capture your meaning in a way not half-bad!
How is it you now call these lessons perverse,
Relying so much on past lessons you've had!?
"My son, you will learn to endure more than this,
If I'm not mistaken in what I divine;
Not pain its own sake, like some masochist,
But pain with a purpose, and clear, good, design.
"Pain as a means to an end, glor'ous and high
As the heavens above, yet as near as a kiss.
This pain we pursue, (Yes, us both, you and I,)
Is discomfort that eventually leads up to bliss!
"Come over here, son, and sit down on my knee.
Since it is now just about five after ten,
I'll tell you, if quickly, 'What's happened to me,'
But then to your Latin must you quickly run.
"It's not 'What has happened,' but what I have done,
That springs up the gladness that shines in my brow.
The game that I've caught, the prize that I've won,
Is the fruit of long labor, ripening now.
"A gift for my father, the grandpa you love.
And I have been writing for quite a long time!
A draft from the last year was spotty and rough,
But now, like a jewel, it is polished and primed.
"Our God above freely gave the inspiration
And so only gratitude, I pay as a fee,
And sing of my thanks and my great admiration,
For my dad, who's done (and been) so much for me.
It took me much time and hard work, you should note.
God wants our effort and his to agree.
All great writers, indeed, thusly wrote,
God's work and theirs in a sweet harmony.
There. Now you've rested, my tale you have learned,
My boy, my poem to you is revealed.
Just so must my boy to his room now return,
And thus the agreement of ours is fulfilled."
"But no, dad, O please dad, don't leave me like this!
You told me the first part, and neglected the next!!
Disclose, too, the poem! O please don't resist,
At least let me see one small bit of the text."
"There's no room for argument. Simply obey.
The clock kindly tells us its ten after ten.
The poem is not something you would enjoy,
For do we enjoy what we don't comprehend?
"When faculties fully will take in my meaning,
Don't worry, when older of mind, I will share.
But now, before your intellectual weaning,
Though hearing with ears, you'd not really hear!
"Ok, dad, well thanks, dad, for letting me stay."
He said as he hopped down, and made towards the door,
A frown on his face he tried not display,
And a grumble inside him that cried out for more.
This grumble to him seemed to be for the poem,
In truth, all he needed was something to eat,
Almost out, but wanting his father to show him
The writing, he turned one last plea to repeat.
"This story is not for young boys, but for men."
His father pre-empted, "If you need a snack,
Ask mom, but then to your Latin again!
To earn life's rewards, we must stay on track. "
And so did he go, his hopes dashed within,
The interest inside him no less fully piqued.
What were the words his father had written?
O for a snippit! A glance or a peak!
So glumly returning downstairs with some juice
And a snack, the boy tried to focus his thoughts,
But, like shining stars in the sky, bright and loose
As they fall to the Earth, stay in place they would not.
In twenty more minutes or so of attempts,
He began to, reluctantly, settle and learn.
His writing slowed down and became less unkempt,
His lips moved, if slowly, with long Latin words.
But no sooner had concentration arrived,
Than 'twas shattered by furious knocking outside.
A figure rushed in, with excitement in eye,
Strutting into the room looking puffed up with pride.
Our subject, expecting to welcome his mother
Scrambled to gather some work he could show
But looking and seeing instead just his brother,
Just sighed, now leery of his brother's proud glow.
"Little bro, I just visited dad in his room,
You know how he has been writing each night?
Guess what? He's just finished a magical poem,
He showed me the outline! and whoa, what a sight!
While sitting and doing my Logic upstairs
I realized it's time for my break-time with dad
He mentioned that he had some great news to share,
Then pulled out and showed me the poem that he had.
"It's only the outline, the chapters and such,
But it's awesome! I basically got the drift.
I mean, I know he loves grandpa very much,
But that will be such an amazing gift!
"Well, I gotta go, little bro, thanks for the chat.
I'm going to finish my lesson at lunch,
Tuesday's for shopping with dad, you know that...
It was so nice talking. Thanks a bunch."
The pain and dismay that now filled the boy
Could hardly be sung in verse or in prose,
A pain mixed with envy at his brother's joy,
The storm of emotions now inside him rose
And growing so great, did drown out the voice
Of his father inside, "My son, you must wait,"
And so, without wit, the boy made his choice,
For he longed his forbidden desire to sate.
Now, how could he steal by without detection?
He asked as he stood up and made for the door.
Forgetting his studies he made an inspection
Of the hall, "Now, to get to the second floor..."
The youth took a moment to consider the risk.
Thinking and puzzling, he puzzled and thought,
When footsteps rang out pacing heavy and brisk,
From the hallway, "That must be dad going out,"
And out he did go, big brother in tow,
The two left the house and were now in the car.
"Aha!" Thought the boy, and he lunged out, although
The path up the stairs now seemed somehow so far,
But finally arriving at the large oaken door,
He looked left and right, and though it was closed,
He tip-toed inside on the hard-wooded floor,
But hearing a creak, he suddenly froze,
Then, hearing no sounds coming up from below,
He walked through the room, and avoided the light
That shone in a thin line through the window.
His gaze reached the desk, and even in spite
Of his father's command, echoing, "This is not right"
He snatched up the papers, but discovered one glitch:
He could not see what they said without light!
So he fumbled and stumbled and looked for a switch,
When click! With a flash, and the light was discovered,
The beautiful poem revealed to his eyes!
Eagerly, now did he pull back the cover,
With trembling rapture that welled up inside.
But just then the boy stopped dead, suddenly,
The look on his face of dismay and suprise...
Time passed, but he did not stir.. No, not he...
He rather stared with a horror at his newfound prize,
The words shining up at him from the dark page
Were in Latin, an incomprehensible mess,
The rich, lovely meaning, locked up in a cage,
And hid from the pry of his young eagerness.
Before the new shock of the truth had sunk in,
A creek did he hear, that familiar sound,
A feeling of fear replaced rapture within.
He put down the paper, and turning aroud,
Faced his father, a look of concern on his face,
The hat he'd forgetten was there in his hand.
He stood, a figure of judgement and grace,
Tall, like a king, majestic and grand,
"O dad, I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait,
My brother said you had showed it to him...
For me, I know now that it is too late;
I'll never read it or see it again."
"My son, come to me, wipe the tears from your eyes.
For disobeying, you are right to be sad.
But from sorrow, behold, I make new joy arise.
Hear my words, for they shall instead make you glad.
"Now son, listen closely and never forget
For the words which I speak are words to the wise:
Though soon you will read what you have not read yet
And soon you will see with wonder-filled eyes,
"This poem I hid from your view for your good,
For never will I hold back fun for no reason.
But just as the best cook will eat the best food,
The most fun requires we first work for a season.
"To help you work hard, help you stay at your books
And show you that I will not punish or shout
Of my poem I'll give you a taste and a look
I'll tell you, in English, what it is about:
"A story of grandpa, his love, and his life,
His service to people, his service to Christ,
The untiring care for your grandma, his wife,
And the time and money on us sacraficed.
"There now, my dear boy, cheer up and be glad,
You've had a small taste of my reason and rhyme.
Soon you'll be ready, till then, like your dad,
Be patient, the journey to joy will take time."
