There's a breathless hush in the school today -
Hours to go and the exam to pass -
A stuffy classroom; "Good luck", all say,
And mournful faces peer through the glass.
But it's not for !he sake of a "'ninety percent",
Or fame, which You've swotted for all winter,
But you say to yourself with weary back bent -
"Come on! Work on! and pass the Inter!"
The wood of the desk is sodden blue,
Blue with ink from a bottle that burst;
Your pencil's blunt and your brains are few,
And all that you feel is worry and thirst.
Your cup of woe is brimming over,
You scratch your head and find a splinter,
But if you can pass. You'll be in clover;
"Work on! Plod on! and pass the Inter!"