The grass was just as green Tom, barefoot boys at play
were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay.
But the master sleeps upon the hill, which coated o’er with snow
afforded us a sliding place, some forty years ago.

The old school-house is altered some; The benches are replaced
by new ones very like the same our jack-knives had defaced.
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro;
Its music’s just the same, dear Tom, ‘twas forty years ago.

The spring that bubbled ‘neath the hill, close by the spreading beech,
is very low; ‘twas once so high that we could almost reach;
and kneeling down to take a drink, Dear Tom, I started so
to think, how very much I’ve changed since forty years ago.

Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name,
your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom; and you did mine the same.
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, ‘twas dying sure, but slow
just as that one whose name you cut died forty years ago.
My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came in my eyes:
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties.
I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to strew
upon the graves of those we loved just forty years ago.

Some are in the Church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the Sea;
and none are left of our class excepting you and me.
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go.
I hope we’ll meet with those we loved some forty years ago.