Classic Poem

After high eloquence and noble thought,
After true words with sense and feeling fraught,
After fine periods of melodious prose,
All parts of which were pleasant till their close, —
Listen, kind friends, to some unpolished rhymes
I fain must weave about the good old times.

Long years have flown — long years of grief and joy —
Since here I lived, a careless happy boy,
When ignorant of life and life's turmoil,
The daily conflict and the nightly toil,
My childhood lapsed, like some secluded stream,
Touched by the beauty of the morning beam;
Through flowery fields and paths with verdure spread,
And leafy groves that cooling umbrage shed,
Stirred by no storm its tranquil waters flowed
Hushed in the quiet of this calm abode.
Here sprang my infant hopes, here first I heard
The earnest teaching of God's holy word,
Here to my soul were those pure precepts given
That clearly showed the narrow way to Heaven.
Well I remember how Salvation's plan
Fell from the lips of that most reverend man,
Who then sole Shepherd of a faithful flock,
Gathered his fold around that living Rock
On which, surviving Nature's final doom,
The Church of Christ, the tree of God, shall bloom.
Well I remember how to school I went
On other things than study oft intent,
When from the turret pealed the well-known bell,
That seemed to utter — boys, come learn to spell
And learn to read and write and cipher, too —
Come, hasten, hasten! Idleness won't do!
Well I remember how both large and small
Collected daily in the speaking hall —
The different branches in the hall downstairs
In ordered ranks demurely unto prayers.
Wo to the urchin who came in too late —
Wo to the absent — awful was his fate!
If from his pocket he could not produce
In lines paternal adequate excuse,
The well-used ferule thumped his shrinking hand,
Or by the birch were his small shoulders spanned.
It did him good — it made him grow apace —
It gave him morals, manners, grit and grace.
Folks have grown wiser in our modern days,
They sneer at Solomon's old-fashioned ways,
The present mode of government is mild,
We spare the rod and therefore spoil the child.
But let me not such sage reflections cast
On the veiled rumor of the misty past!
The Past — which seen through intervening years
Invokes some smiles, and some hot bitter tears.
I smile to think of boyhood's happy hours,
I weep to think of all its wasted flowers.
I smile at scenes association weaves
With the dear pictures on Youth's tarnished leaves;
I weep for those that Time so dims and stains
That but faint tracery of their light remains.
Of all the merry tribe that here with me
Sailed o'er the waves of an unruffled sea,
How few still shine in Memory's lessening ray,
How many even from Life have passed away.
The little boy whose bosom knew no care
Feels his head bald, and counts his silver hair.
The girl who then had never dreamed of beaux
Sees her grand-children sprouting up in rows.
The boy who jubilant when school was done,
Played off his pranks and had some royal fun,
Now sighs to think his schooldays all are o'er,
That he must teach where he was taught before;
And the staid matron mid her precious pets
Sighs for the hours when she wore pantalettes,
And went to school, and had an unfledged squad
Of youthful sweethearts waiting on her nod.
Alas! Alas! we never can recall
Those hours of kite and bat and ball,
Those golden times, when, lured by eyes and curls,
We fell in love with all the pretty girls,
And, though no poets, still found out that bliss
Was the best, honest, down-right rhyme to kiss.
But though grown somewhat old in form and face,
Yet on our souls hath Time left scarce a trace.
Still young in feeling, juvenile in heart,
As when we first felt Cupid's little dart,
We live and love with ardor warm and true
As in those days when Life and Love were new.

Therefore, obedient to your call, I came,
Thankful to be remembered even in name,
To join your celebration and to raise
My humble voice in gratulating praise
Of this fair shrine of learning, builded here
By private bounty, and from year to year
Through various fortune, to the same high cause
Devoted, worthy of good men's applause.
Long may it flourish — long may Bacon be
An honored, favorite, famed Academy.
Within its walls which half a century binds
May there be reared sound, able, brilliant minds.
From this fit temple may the good and wise
Go forth, prepared for Life's great enterprise,
With courage, resolution, strength and truth,
The armor and the panoply of youth —
And not with these alone but that pure faith
Whose star-like beam outshines the Night of Death.
God bless this shrine of learning, may our prayers
Wrap it all cloud-like in celestial airs —
So that as from an altar may arise
A sweet and welcome incense to the skies,
From man to God, a grateful sacrifice!