I dreamed I stood in a studio
And watched two sculptors there,
The clay they used was a young child's mind
And they fashioned it with care.
One was a teacher; the tools being used
Were books and music and art,
One a parent with a guiding hand
And a gentle, loving heart.
Day after day the teacher toiled
With touch that was deft and sure,
While the parent laboured just as hard
And polished and smoothed it o'er.
When at last their task was doneT
hey were proud of what they had wrought,
For the things they had moulded into the child
Could neither be sold nor bought.
A nd both agreed they would have failed
If they had worked alone;
For behind the parent stood the school
And behind the teacher, the home.
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