1 It only seems like yesterday,
The morning fresh and cool,
When first with satchel on my arm,
I bent my steps to school.
2 Our teacher kindly took my hand,
And sweetly on me smiled:
For O, she had not yet forgot
That she was once a child.
3 She still look'd young and beautiful,
But to my fancy seem'd
That, even in her happiest moods,
Of brighter lands she dream'd.
4 She often spoke of some far shore,
Where all her treasure lay;
And said that soon her little bark
Would moor within its bay.
5 We thought she'd like the holidays,
That thither she mighty fly--
To that bright land, where tears, she said,
Are wiped from every eye.
6 One morn we miss'd her from the school;
Day follow'd after day;
Another teacher fill'd her place,
And still she stay'd away.
7 And still she stay'd, and ne'er return'd,
For unto her was given
A never-ending holiday
In the bright land of heaven.
Source: Linden Harp: a rare collection of popular melodies adapted to sacred and moral songs, original and selected. Illustrated. Also a manual of... #31