Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue XXXII, 9 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE OLD SCHOOL-BOOK

On the old school-book, in its dusty nook, With a tearful eye I gaze; Come down, old friend, for an hour we 11 Rpend In talking of bygone days. I gaze onco more, as in days of yore, On the task that vexed the brain ; The lessons done, and victory won, And I feel I'm a child again.

And I seem to stand with the youthful band In tho old house on the green ; I hear the fun ere the school began, And I join in the gladsome scene. I take my place, witli a sober face ; O'er the well-carved desk I bend, And hourly pore o'er tho learned love Of thy wonderful page, old friend.

Then our caves were few, and our friends were true, And our griefs were rare and light; The world was naught (so we fondly thought) But a region of puro delight. But time has sped, and our path has led Through the dark and tearful scene ; And passed away are the good and gay, Like the old house on the green.

But we'll sing no more of the days of yore, For the tear-«!rop dims the eye. Sleep on, old book, in thy dusty nook, As in years that have glided by. No guilt we trace in thy honest face, But a mine of gold within Enriched the youth, as they sought for truth, In the old house on the green.