In School I used to go to a bright school Where Youth and Frolic taught in turn; But idle scholar that I was, I like to play, I would not learn; So the Great Teacher did ordain That I should try the School of Pain. One of the infant class I am With little easy lessons, set In a great book; the higher class Have harder ones than I, and yet I find mine hard, and can't restrain My tears while studying thus with Pain. There are two Teachers in the school, One has a gentle voice and low, And smiles upon her scholars, as She softly passes to and fro. Her name is Love; tis very plain She shuns the sharper teacher, Pain. Or so I sometimes think; and then, At other times, they meet and kiss, And look so strangely like, that I Am puzzled to tell who it is, Or whence the change which makes it vain To guess if it be Love or Pain. They tell me if I study well, And learn my lessons, I shall be Moved upward to that higher class Where dear Love teaches constantly; And I work hard, in hopes gain Reward, and get away from Pain. Yet Pain is sometimes kind, and helps Me on when I am very dull; I thank him often in my heart; But Love is far more beautiful; Under her tender, gentle reign I must learn faster than of Pain. So I will do my very best, Nor chide the Clock, nor call it slow That when the Teacher calls me up To see if I am put to go, I may to Love’s high class attain, And bid a sweet goodbye to Pain. Susan Coolidge