The Prairie School

THE sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat,

The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet —

A trail with never an end at all to the children's eager feet.

The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue

The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view

In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through —

And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay,

A clink of lunch-pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray,

A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they!

The prairie school! The well-tramped earth, so ugly and so dear,

The piney steps where teacher stands, a saucy gopher near,

A rough-cut pole where the flag flies up to a shrill voiced children's cheer.

So stands the outpost! Time and change will crowd its widening door,

Big with the dreams we visioned and the hopes we battled for —

A legacy to those who come from those who come no more.