III
And ever see the op’ning hour of school,
And hear the bell sound on the morning air,
And see each little one with reticule
And well-trained poise and step assembling there,
And each pale-faced teacher in her place
And all the children there on bended knees,
With innocence imprinted on each face,
And hear their prayer borne on the morning breeze,
And hear the glass and falling timbers crash,
And see the children through the windows leap
With blood fast flowing from each gaping gash
Upon their heads and faces, long and deep;
And fain am I to fall into despair
That scenes so sad should follow children’s prayer.