The place where the school stood is empty now,
And bears only shades of the past.
The laughter of children is no longer heard,
Yet many sweet memories last.
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The old bell now silenced is long put away,
No longer to ring its’ sweet chime.
And gone are the hands that held that old bell,
Both gone with the passing of time.

And time passed so quickly, where did it go?
A question no one understands.
Our teachers are gone, yet I still see their face,
And I still see my teachers hands.

I watched those old hands wipe tears of a child,
While easing the pain of a hurt.
I watched them sew buttons and clothes that were torn
And wipe away dust, grime and dirt.

Old hands touched our lives in a special way,
But now at long last they’re at rest.
They rest from the labor of teaching and toil,
Now folded on our teachers breast.

There will come a time when we all hear the bell,
To be rang at the Master’s will.
And then by God’s grace, we’ll touch those old hands,
We children from Ole Stanleyville.

William R. Waterman, Sr

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