Swinging on the porch swing in the gathering darkness ... only the monotonous sound of the night bugs ... tree frogs singing a sleepy good-night ... an old song runs through the mind...."Once in the dear, dead days beyond recall.When on the world the mists begin to fall,Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song."
Chorus:"Just a song at twilight"When the lights are low,And the flickering shadowsSoftly come and go.Though the heart be weary,Sad, the day, and long,Still to us at twilightComes Love's old song.Comes Love's old sweet song.
Verse 2"Even today, we hear Love's song of yore,Deep in our hearts, it dwells forever more.Footsteps may falter, weary grow the way,Still we can hear it at the close of day.So till the end, when life's dim shadows fall
Love will be found the sweetest song of all."
Those long-ago children played and romped all night in my dreams. Young and eager, full of energy, they ran and laughed. The little girls played hopscotch and jump rope. You can hear their childish voices reciting, "Johnny crossed the ocean, Johnny crossed the sea, Johnny broke the milk bottle and laid it on to me, I told Maw and Maw told Paw, and poor old Johnny got H-O-T!" The rope was then turned very fast.Some of the smaller girls built playhouses -- down in the edge of the woods and under the schoolhouse porch. They'd brought cast-off dishes and odds and ends from home, and stocked their playhouse with fine accessories. The bigger boys played "Longtown" and "Prisoner's Base," and nearly all of them played their marble games. You could hear cries of "Knucks down!" or "You're fudgin'" as they played "Keeps" or "Four Holes and a Peewee." Even the older girls played marble.The schoolyard was bare of grass; the ground packed down hard by hundreds of running feet. The children picked handfuls of huge beechnuts and stored them in paper cups fashioned from notebook paper. When the bell rang to call them back to classes, they cry "Books are taking up!" and run back up the steps to their classrooms.The children gathered together for another grade school reunion, although at this time, they no longer ran. Some were on canes and limped along with hip or knee replacements; some were assisted by others. Hair had turned gray, and in some cases was missing altogether. Their youthful faces were hidden by wrinkles and the marks of old age. Still, their enthusiasm was evident as they greeted one another, and their conversation spirited and joyful.Some of those long-ago children have left this earthly playground, and are now sporting in Elysian Fields. As time goes on, more of us will join them in their play in one eternal reunion.Yes, time has wrought a change. The old school house has been long gone now, and a house sits in its place. Yet the landmarks are almost the same. The huge beech trees that provided the biggest beechnuts I have ever seen were cut down long ago. The big rock down over the bank, where we girls retreated to tell each other our childish secrets, is now overgrown with brush and briers. That was the place where Jewel Beth and I hid our love notes.The rock where we "jumped the hump" while sleigh riding in the snow is still there, but it seems so small now. Trees and underbrush cover the hillside where the boys once had their "mud slide" and came home so coated with mud that their mothers almost disowned them. Many generations of long-ago children went to school there, and memories abound.I found a poem that my cousin Evelyne McLaughlin sent me some time ago, and it seems appropriate. The only thing -- it's more like 70 years ago!
Forty Years AgoFrom the McGuffey Reader"I've wandered to the village, Tom,I've sat beneath the tree,Upon the schoolhouse playgroundThat sheltered you and me;But none were left to greet me, TomAnd few are left to knowWho played with me upon the greenJust forty years ago.The grass was just as green, TomBarefooted boys at playWere sporting, just as we did thenWith spirits just as gay.But the master sleeps upon the hill
Which coated o'er with snowAfforded us a sliding placeSome forty years ago.The old school house is altered someThe benches are replacedBy news ones very much the sameOur jackknives had defaced.But the same old bricks are in the wallThe bell swings to and froThe music just the same, dear Tom'Twas forty years ago.The spring that bubbles 'neath the hillClose by the spreading beechIs very low, 'twas once so highThat we could almost reach.And kneeling down to take a drink,Dear Tom, I started soTo think how much I've changedSince forty years ago.Near by that spring, upon the elmYou know I cut your nameYour sweetheart's just beneath it, TomAnd you did mine the same.Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark'Twas dying, sure but slowJust as that one whose name you cutDied forty years ago.My lids have long been dry, TomBut tears came in my eyesI thought of her I loved so wellThose early broken ties.I visited the old church yardAnd took some flowers to strewUpon the graves of those we lovedJust forty years ago.Some are in the church yard laidSome sleep beneath the seaAnd none are left of our old classExcepting you and me.And when our time shall come, TomAnd we are called to goI hope we'll meet with those we lovedSome forty years ago.
A line of a song runs through my mind, "Love will remain when all else shall wane, Guiding me on through the years, Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen.""And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three: but the greatest of these is charity." (1 Cor. 13:13)Contact Alyce Faye Bragg at firstname.lastname@example.org or write to 2556 Summers Fork Road, Ovapa, WV 25164.