Image from the Denver Photo Blog – Kristal Kraft
LITTLE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
In the grave of the past it is buried,
That weather-worn temple of wood;
And only dank woods in the summer
Now mark the dear spot where it stood.
Oh! could all the scholars assemble
Once more in that prison-like place,
And hear the quaint school-master utter
His heartfelt entreaties for grace!
Oh! could we return to that school-room,
Untouched by the evils of years,
And find the bright smiles that have vanished
In place of the dimness of tears,
And join in the silver-toned laughter,
The gurgle of innocent fun;
The races we had going homeward
When all the hard lessons were done.
How the truant sulked in after bell-time!
So galletully heedless of ruler;
For they knew the old teacher was patient —
His stalle was the law of the school.
How pleasant this place of the children
On hot murky days in July,
When the little ones from their studies,
In the shade of the elm tree lie!
But, alas! the crude structure has fallen,
Its timbers have gone to decay;
The master sleeps there in the corner,
Where the glad children shouted in play.
God bless the dear spot that since childhood
Has grown to be sacred and still,
Where the little red school-house in glory
Once stood on the brow of the hill.
May all the scholars assemble
In heaven’s great classroon above,
And meet after life’s fitful season,
To learn the grand wisdom of love;
And see the old docile-faced teacher,
A pupil himself, as before.
In branches whose worth he commended
In the little red school-house of yore.
Freeborn County Standard (Albert Lea, Minnesota) Jun 15, 1882