. Public school methods . l;With the stmshine on thy face,Through thy torn brims jaunty grace:From my heart I give thee joy!I was once a barefoot boy. Prince thou art—the grown-up manOnly is the million-dollared ride!Barefoot, trudging at his side,Thou hast more than he can buy,In the reach of ear and eye—Outward sunshine, inward joy:Blessings on thee, barefoot boy. Oh, for boyhoods painless play;Sleep that wakes in laughing day;Health that mocks at doctors rules;Knowledge never learned of schools,Of the wild bees morning chase,Of the wild-flowers time and of fowl a
. Public school methods . l;With the stmshine on thy face,Through thy torn brims jaunty grace:From my heart I give thee joy!I was once a barefoot boy. Prince thou art—the grown-up manOnly is the million-dollared ride!Barefoot, trudging at his side,Thou hast more than he can buy,In the reach of ear and eye—Outward sunshine, inward joy:Blessings on thee, barefoot boy. Oh, for boyhoods painless play;Sleep that wakes in laughing day;Health that mocks at doctors rules;Knowledge never learned of schools,Of the wild bees morning chase,Of the wild-flowers time and of fowl and habitudeOf the tenants of the wood;How the tortoise bears his shell;How the woodchuck digs his the ground-mole sinks his well;How the robin feeds her young;How the orioles nest is hung;Where the whitest lilies blow;Where the freshest berries grow;Where the ground-nut trails its vine;Where the wood-grapes clusters shine:Of the black wasps cunning way—Mason of his walls of clay— 254 Public School Methods. WITH THE SUNSHINE ON THY FACE,THROUGH THY TORN BRIMs JAUNTY GRACE. And the architectural plansOf gray hornet artisans!For, eschewing books and tasks,Nature answers all he asks;Hand in hand with her he walks,Face to face with her he talks,Part and parcel of her joy—Blessings on the barefoot boy! Oh, for boyhoods time of June,Crowding years in one brief all things I heard or , their master, waited for. Reading 255 I was rich in flowers and trees,Humming-birds and honey-bees;For my sake the squirrel played;Plied the snouted mole his spade;For my taste the blackberry conePurpled over hedge and stone;Laughed the brook for my delightThrough the day and through the night,Whispering at the garden wall,Talked with me from fall to fall;Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond;Mine the walnut slopes beyond;Mine, on bending orchard trees,Apples of Hesperides!Still, as my horizon grewLarger grew my riches, too;All the world I saw or knew,Seemed a complex Chine
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidpublicschool, bookyear1913
