The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/The Little Red Schoolhouse

by Jonathan E. Hoag

The Little Red Schoolhouse

Yet dear to my heart is the little red schoolhouse,
  The hill and the field where the strawberries grew;
The old wooden doorstep, the feet that once trod it
  Have vanished and gone like the rain and the dew!

The long wooden benches, the stove and big poker,
  The master's tall hat on a peg high and dry;
The old wooden desk and the books piled upon it;
  The tin waterpail and the drinking cup nigh.

There were baskets and boxes with cookies and doughnuts,
  And all quickly vanish at coming of noon;
Then the ball and the hoop, and the ring-around-rosy,
  Then skip the light rope and sing o'er the quick tune.

Then the spirit of childhood in "tag" and in "I spy"
  Reveals its fleet vigor beneath the bright sun;
Now the master with ruler raps loud on the window,
  And all scurry back to their seats on the run.

Ah that little red schoolhouse, set close by the wayside!
  The hill and the woods where the wintergreen grew;
Not a shade nor a shadow touched lawn or touched window;
  Not a wide spreading oak nor a hanging vine blew.

Now that little red schoolhouse that stood by the wayside,
  Not a stone nor a brick marks the place where it stood!
Now we hear the wild scream of the huge locomotive,
  O'er hilltop and valley, o'er mountain and wood.

But oh, how the visions of childhood come welling,
  When I think of the spot where so often I trod;
When sweet retrospection cheats Time of its changes,
  And I stand once again on the loved rural sod!

1919.