O Teacher! My teacher! The awful exam draws near;
And with every passing day, I feel my rising fear;
My text books all feel heavier,
My notes make less and less sense.
But O heart! heart! heart!
O wavering nervous system reset,
When in the class my Teacher says,
There's hope for me, yet.
O Teacher! my Teacher! rise up and look at the board;
Rise up-cause believe it or not-you have a passing hoard;
A dozen or so distinctions-a majority of first classes too;
For you they call, this happy mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Teacher! Dear Teacher!
You really pulled us through;
It is some dream that by next month,
I'll be in college too.
My Teacher does not answer, his breath rhythmic but light;
My Teacher does not hear my call, wonder if he's all right;
Our future is anchor'd safe and sound, our books closed and done;
From their ordeal, this bunch with zeal, comes in with object won;
Exult, O friends, and ring, O bells!
But I, with concern deep,
Pace outside the class my Teacher lies,
Fallen exhausted and asleep.