The Old Schoolhouse
I have looked today far down the aisles of memory's happy past
I saw the scenes I saw before that were too bright to last
But still in many a lonely hour my thoughts do oft recoil
To boyhood's hours of birds and flowers when free from care and toil
I see the schoolhouse on the hill, the crystal pond below
The waters rippling gently still upon their downward flow
And often with our little boats in springtime cool and clear
We sailed them o’er its surface with neither care nor fear.
I see the grassy spot where a long noon hour we played
Around our ancient looking church and in the silent shade.
And on each stormy winter's day with frost and ice and snow
We'd take our slide ropes in our hands and up the hill we'd go
Away upon the icy hill, so high and smooth and steep
And then with laughter, song and shout
Adown the hill we'd sweep
The old schoolhouse has long been gone
That old brown house so queer
Still I can see the boys and girls
Their merry voices hear
The long, low seats for little boys
Were near our master's chair
When Joe and George and John and I were snuggly seated there
Where are those merry boys
Who joined with me at play
Not all have reached to manhood's prime
As some have passed away
But memory deep still round me clings
Was that dear place I see
Where life was one long summer day
So joyous, bright and free