A thousand year is nought to prayer,
One day, so God it will:
So the chapel fair, in God’s clear air,
Looks calmly from its hill;

And true and bold the schoolhouse old
Before it sentinel,
With close at hand a trusty band
Of comrades guards it well.

Each morn they meet, the young, young feet,
They lightly come and go,
A changeful stream, that still doth seem
The same, and still doth flow.

The stream shall run while shines the sun,
And still the buttressed stone
Shall hear the beat of young, young feet,
And count them all its own.

The fair sun shone, but ghastly and wan
There came a spectral dream;
The stone stood fast, but a dim fear passed
Through buttress, and roof, and beam:

With sad, sad heart life did depart,
A ghostly silence fell;
With sad, sad heart they turned to depart,
And—farewell, home, farewell.

School-House Quad