Swift fly the years! Men call thee mean and old,
But I behold thee still as in thy prime;
The scroll of memory quickly is unrolled,
Wherein I read of childhood's early time;
Of that first morn, when finished, bright, and new,
We took our seats within thy well-built walls;
The master's voice I hear, his form I view,
As to his place, in order, each he calls.
Again I see, 'twas a beauteous sight!
Adorned with evergreen, and summer flowers;
The parents sharing in their sons' delight,
And gay the school room looked as garden bowers.
Thus ever stand, flower-wreathed and fair and new,
A picture bright for memory to view!