I've wander'd to the village Tom,
I've sat beneath the tree;
Upon the schoolhouse playing ground
Which shelter'd you and me.
But none were there to greet me Tom;
And few were left to know,
That play'd with us upon the grass,
Some twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green, dear Tom,
Barefooted boys at play
Were sporting just as we did then,
With spirits just as gay;
But the master sleeps upon the hill,
Which, coated o'er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding place
Just twenty years ago.

The river's running just as still;
The willows on its side
Are larger than they were, dear Tom,
The stream appears less wide;
The grapevine swing is ruined now,
Where once we played the beau
And swung our sweethearts "pretty girls"
Just twenty years ago.

My lids have long been dry, dear Tom,
But tears came in my eyes;
I thought of here I loved so well,
Those early-broken ties;
I visited the old churchyard,
And took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved,
Some twenty years ago.

Some now are in the churchyard laid,
Some sleep beneath the sea,
But few are left of our old class,
Excepting you and me;
And when our time shall come, dear Tom,
And we are called to go,
I hope they'll lay us where we played
Just twenty years ago.