Edna Whitmore,  “The Psalm of the Schoolroom”

Tell me not in mournful numbers Lessons are but empty dreams, Hist'ry troubles all my slumbers, Latin is not what it seems. Study's real, study's earnest, Learning Latin isn't fun, When you think you know your lesson You will find you've just begun. No more idling, no more guessin' As you have done in the past, But to act that each new lesson Is known better than the last. Days are long and time is dragging, And our feet, so active once, Still like iron weights are lagging In the class we call the Dunce. Trust no lesson howe'er pleasant, Learn it e'er you go to school, Act, act, in the living present Brain in whirls and Prof to rule. Tongues of teachers all remind us We, in knowledge often lack; But at least we leave behind us Foot-prints on our upward track. Foot-prints that perhaps another Brooding o'er his work, as vain, A forlorn and block-head brother Seeing shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing With a heart for any fate, No more idling, no gum-chewing, Learn your lessons e'er too late.