There once was a boy with no love for a book.
He’d glance at a page but never really look.
He’d wiggle and giggle and shuffle his feet,
But interested in learning? No, that wasn’t neat.
“Why bother with numbers? Why wrestle with words?
Why listen to boring teachers or study about birds?”
He shrugged, he yawned, and he whispered, “Oh well,
I know what I know, and that suits me just swell.”
But the truth about learning is simple, you see.
It blooms like a flower for you and for me.
It grows when we hunger. It grows when we seek.
It hides in the strong, and it hides in the weak.
A mind that says, “I already know. I’ve had my fill,”
Will rest in the valley and never climb a hill.
Wisdom is always available, but it must be sought.
Eager learners say, “Share with me a new thought.”
When doing simple tasks, don’t snooze or ignore
The sparkle of truth that might hide in that chore.
If they seem to be too tricky, too much to attain,
Keep climbing step-by-step. It won’t be in vain.
God whispers in silence, not always in noise.
He speaks to his children—his girls, and his boys.
So listen quite closely. Don’t rush and don’t shout.
His whispers of wisdom are what it’s all about.
The hardest of lessons come dressed up in pain.
They plant seeds of truth that rise with the rain.
Like the prodigal son who returned to his home,
Sometimes we learn not to wander and roam.
So open your ears and your heart every day,
For God is still teaching in work and in play.
And if you feel stubborn, remember this clue:
The wisest of learners say, “Lord, I need you.”
