he teacher is given the
privilege of pointing to the higher life. He is the gardener in the
garden of life. His task is to plant and to cultivate the flowers of
noble thoughts and deeds rather than to let the human soul grow up to
weeds. This purpose becomes all the more significant when we realize
that the effects of our teaching are not only to modify a life here of
three-score and ten--they are impressions attendant throughout eternity.
As the poet Goethe has said, "Life is the childhood of our immortality,"
and the teachings of childhood are what determine the character of
maturity. The thought is given additional emphasis in the beautiful
little poem, "Planting," by W. Lomax Childress:

Who plants a tree may live
To see its leaves unfold,
The greenness of its summer garb,
Its autumn tinge of gold.

Who plants a flower may live
To see its beauty grow,
The lily whiten on its stalk,
The rambler rose to blow.

Who sows the seed may find
The field of harvest fair,
The song of reapers ringing clear,
When all the sheaves are there.

But time will fell the tree,
The rose will fade and die,
The harvest time will pass away,
As does the song and sigh.

But whoso plants in love,
The word of hope and trust,
Shall find it still alive with God--
It is not made of dust.

It cannot fade nor change,
Though worlds may scattered be,
For love alone has high repose
In immortality.

If the teacher, as he stands before his class, could project his vision
into the future--could see his pupils developed into manhood and
womanhood, and could see all that he might do or fail to do, he would
read a meaning well-nigh beyond comprehension into the question, "Why do
I teach?"

A second answer to this query lies in our obligation to pass on the
wonderful heritage which we here received from our pioneer forefathers.
The story of their sacrifice, devotion, and achievement is unique in the
history of the world. Only recently a pioneer of 1852 thrilled a
parents' class in one of our wards with the simple narrative of his
early experiences. His account of Indian raids, of the experience with
Johnston's army, of privations and suffering, of social pastimes--all of
these things rang with a spirit of romance. None of his auditors will
ever forget the story of his aunt who gave up her seat in her wagon to a
sick friend