Joseph Pullman Porter
A Satire - Poem by Joseph Pullman Porter
'Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning,
Around it still the sumacs grow
And blackberry vines are running.'
A poet painted, years ago,
That interesting scene,
Yet, there above the roadside
The little school is seen.
A trifle more run down, perhaps,
In shabby disrepair,
But 'round it still the sumacs grow
And the blackberry vines are there.
In Winter time the snow sifts in
Through its broken door and cracks,
Though by the stove with faces hot
The children freeze their backs.
No shade! Its room in Summer time
Is filled with sultry air.
For it is easier to concentrate
When roasting in a chair.
Its tiny plot of roughened land,
Trod hard by many feet,
Is whitewashed o'er with ashes
Where grass should be replete.
The old world swiftly moves along,
Advancing every day,
But the antiquated schoolhouse,
Forevermore, must stay.
It was good enough for father
And it's good enough for me
And it's good enough for farmers
For all eternity.
Then hail to the country schoolhouse!
And may she ever stand
The emblem of education
In this our native land.
the first stanza is by John Greenleaf Whittier
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