Lambtown School Poems
The two poems below were written during the first part of the twentieth century. Each was written to memorialize the Lambtown School, and each contains details of the school’s traditions and of people connected with the school.
THE LITTLE RED SCHOOL HOUSE
You’ve stood upon the rocky hill
A hundred years, and more.
The merry lads you house to-day
Are much like those of yore.
Your coat of paint is still dark red
It wears right well, we know.
And hickory logs in the old box stove
Still make young faces glow.
But oh, I miss the oaken bench
Without a back at all,
Whereon we sat at one long desk
Our faces towards the wall.
Our books were kept upon a shelf
Beneath the desk—quite neat,
And sometimes russet apples, too,
Were hidden there to eat.
To study, scholars all faced in—
But I am pleased to tell
The dexterous way we turned for class
No gymnast could excel.
We went to school at nine o’clock,
And left for home at four.
One hour at noon was thought enough
For lunch and play and more.
We started with the alphabet
Our a - b - c’s to say;
And somehow learned to read and spell
As well as those to-day.
We “ciphered,” “parsed,” and learned with ease
Our history by rote;
We spoke our pieces and spelled down,
And compositions wrote.
We ciphered through the Arithmetic;
O’er Algebra we pored.
We studied Latin, if you please,
For our ambition soared.
Can you forget a marvelous treat
We had when housed by rain?
The sun and planetary course
Our teacher did explain.
We played “I spy” and Prisoner’s Base,
And tag and blind man’s buff;
(And lassies dropped the handkerchief
Who found those plays too rough.)
The little girls played in a house
Of stones made like a wall;
The boys quite often helped at this,
Lest toppling stones should fall.
Choice scraps of old blue china
Made plates quite rare and fine;
While acorn cups and bits of glass
Were good for tea and wine.
A level lot quite near the school
Was utilized each fall
By boys as well as girls who played
A good game of base ball.
We slid down ledges on our shoes;
We coasted down the hills,
And when the boys made humps to jump
The girls were filled with thrills.
But when grim winter froze the ponds
Oh then, we had some fun;
The moment school was out at noon
We started on the run.
For Raymond and Erastus Lamb
And Deacon Lamb as well
Had ponds o’er which the skaters flew
And groaned to hear the bell.
We brought our water from the well
On Deacon Lamb’s estate,
Which gave the girls and boys excuse
At times for being late.
The closet window was quite small
And high above the ground;
But “nothing ventured, nothing lost”
A saying has been found.
If we were early, happy thought
We’d climb in every one—
What good it did, I’ve never known
But it was lots of fun.
The roster had upon its roll
The name of many a Lamb—
While Turner, Gallup, Watrous, Crouch,
And Whipple it did cram.
Then Griswold, Hammond, Rogers, too,
And Crandall for a span;
And don’t forget the Morgans,
That Sandy Hollow Clan.
Culver, Pierce, McGuire, and Roach
Were found all in due time;
And then there was Montgomery,
The sire and sons in line.
Northrop, Avery, Maynard, Myers,
At intervals were found
While many Geers upon the roll
The singing notes did sound.
Now if perchance your name’s left out
Who studied here some time,
I ask forgiveness, for you see
It may be hard to rhyme.
No tale I’m sure would be complete
Of this beloved school
That failed to credit those who taught
So patiently by rule.
Samuel Lamb must head the list,
For fifty years and more
He guided youthful minds and sought
To fill them well with lore.
Other Lambs came in due time,
And Whipples not a few;
With Gallups, Turner, Main, and Geer,
And still the numbers grew.
Mitchell, Lester, Rogers, too,
I easily recall;
And our President, Miss Watrous,
One of the best of all.
We carved our names on silvery beech;
We made green wreaths of oak;
The chestnuts gave us luscious nuts
And whistles, how they spoke!
The old pine tree upon the hill
Is standing there today;
It still is whispering to the winds
A soft sweet roundelay.
The dear old school is trying hard
To learn the modern way;
With seats for two, more blackboard space,
And programs, day by day.
But who can tell in years to come
When one reviews the past—
Will modern methods or the old
Leave imprints that will last?
TO THE
LAMBTOWN
SCHOOL
The following verses were written to the Lambtown School by Joseph Albert Gallup in appreciation of a May basket which he received from the school May 1, 1900.
To the Lambtown School I must hasten to tell
As I replenish my pen from a handsome ink well
Such a pleasant surprise I found at my door
As never had happened in my life before.
Scarcely realized till the close of the day
That ’twas May, smiling May, flowery May
Such an artistic basket from deft hands I ween
That owners should be decked and crowned a May Queen.
With the sweetest of sweets one can eat to his fill
Yet, to be remembered, is far sweeter still
And then there were fruits from a tropical clime
That made one feel both gay and sublime.
We’re proud of the Mayflower to history known
Don’t think strange if I’m giddy with Mayflowers of my own,
It is three score years and more by the way
Yet I never possessed such a lovely bouquet.
The Lambtown School has played its part,
Where many a youth have taken a start.
The little red school house on the side hill found,
Has made its record on historic ground.
Four of us brothers had charge of these flocks.
While the happy Lambkins galloped over these rocks.
You may well be proud of your ancestral stock
For you’ve always had with you “The Lambkins of the Flock.”
Your shepherdesses fair prove an easy pray
To the arrows of cupid who comes often this way.
Miss Kinmouth re-enlisted for the centennial year,
But preferred the Main chance to a position here.
Miss Hoxie to whom we all were inclined
Was effectually swayed by a Newton’s mind.
Miss Watrous embarked to finish the trip
But was taken away by embrace of La Grippe.
Mr. Whipple came next, a bridegroom of yore
Was not troubled with such troubles as troubled before.
But for him the school room had lost its charm,
So that he resigned in favor of the farm.
Miss Abramson now is making the test,
May the Lambtown school get wisdom in store,
Be prosperous and happy, keeping
The wolf from the door.
You’ve had authors, poets in days gone before,
I see by your offering that you still have more.
Many thanks for the basket, its contents and tree—
Most sincerely I’m yours,
Joseph A. G.
Return to QUAKERTOWN Online