NORMAN HALL; OR, THE BOY AND THE ROCK.
Reading edition
“Blessings, Lord, vouchsafe to give On the teaching I receive.”
Norman Hall was what most of us would call a “dull boy;” that is, though he studied hard, yet he was never ahead in his classes, and could not master his lessons as easily as a great many other boys. He was respected and beloved not only by his teacher, but also by the scholars. His father and mother both felt very sad because their only boy did not rank among the first in his class, and knew not how to account for it.
One Friday, Norman missed nearly all of his lessons, and was so much discouraged that he almost determined to quit studying entirely and go to some honest trade. He left the school-room with tears in his eyes, thinking that he had entered it for the last time. As he was going home, he saw a large and deep hole in a rock, which a small stream, by continually falling in the same place, had worn. It was the very thing he needed, and suited him exactly. The thought at once arose in his mind, if a little stream, so soft in itself, can make such a deep and lasting impression on this hard and flinty rock, I am sure, by hard studying and close application, I can make an impression on my mind, which certainly is not as hard as this rock.
He returned to school on Monday, and studied more diligently than he had ever done before; and as he grew in years, he grew in understanding, and at length became a learned man.
Remember, “That a drop hollows out the stone not by force, but by falling often; so you will become learned, not by a violent effort, but by frequent reading.”
THE SLUGGARD.
’Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, ‘You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again.’ As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides and his shoulders, and his heavy head. “A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;” Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number; And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher: The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs. I made him a visit, still hoping to find He had took better care for improving his mind; He told me his dreams, talk’d of eating and drinking; But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,” This man’s but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.
Watts.