Albert SchirdingJonas Keene thought his lot a hard oneBecause his children were all failures.But I know of a fate more trying than that:It is to be a failure while your children are successes.For I raised a brood of eaglesWho flew away at last, leaving meA crow on the abandoned bough.Then, with the ambition to prefixHonorable to my name,And thus to win my children’s admiration,I ran for County Superintendent of Schools,Spending my accumulations to win—and lost.That fall my daughter received first prize in ParisFor her picture, entitled, “The Old Mill”—(It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.)The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me.
Jonas Keene thought his lot a hard oneBecause his children were all failures.But I know of a fate more trying than that:It is to be a failure while your children are successes.For I raised a brood of eaglesWho flew away at last, leaving meA crow on the abandoned bough.Then, with the ambition to prefixHonorable to my name,And thus to win my children’s admiration,I ran for County Superintendent of Schools,Spending my accumulations to win—and lost.That fall my daughter received first prize in ParisFor her picture, entitled, “The Old Mill”—(It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.)The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me.