Thompson, Priscilla Jane
|GLEANINGS OF QUIET HOURS.|
|LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE.|
DEAR SCHOOL of my childhood, thrice
dear doth thou seem,
Now that thou shalt soon be no more;
Oh, fresh in my memory, sweet visions gleam,
Reflecting the bright days of yore.
Those days when we played with our faces
And manhood and womanhood, seemed but a
Thy grove, cool and shady, with maples o'er
Has sheltered us all, in the past;
We've romped 'neath thy shadows, while bright
years have flown,
Too sweet and too pleasant to last.
Dear school of my childhood, with pain in my
I yield to grim progress, and see thee depart.
And all of our teachers; how bright in our mind,
We recall every one, as they came;
Each, like a wise monarch, unselfish and kind,
Did make our advancement, their aim.
Think not that the scholar, ne'er valued thy
Thy teachings sank deeper than thou wert
Thy dear grove has sheltered, when life seemed
And trials have clouded our way.
And oft the young lover, and sweet maiden fair,
Have wooed here, where once they did play.
Oh, fresh in our memories e'er wilt thou be,
Since the skein of our childhood is woven
Dear 'Amity,' emblem of friendship's pure gold,
We shall not bemoan thee, as past;
E'en now, like that fabulous phoenix of old,
From thy ashes, a new school looms, vast.
More comely in structure, we view it near by,
And hail thy successor, with pride in our eye.
We dread not the future, oh 'Amity,' new,
What else canst thou do, but succeed;
Thy ancestor's mantle has fallen to you,
And we know thou'It supply every need.
May thy present scholars, and those to enroll,
Inscribe a good record, upon thy fair scroll.