THE BATTALION.
Dedh'cafory Cfass r 97*
We soon must leave these dear old halls,
Our Alma Mater, fare the well;
No more we’ll respond to bugle calls,
But stern labor rings the bell.
A tear of regret and then a sigh,
For mementoes which you keep;
Of many a hope of learning high,
And wisdom broad and deep.
You, whitewashed walls could tell the tale,
If you. with tongues could speak;
How oft in here we did our duty fail,
And professors vengeance wreak.
Each cranny nook, and battered chair,
A name or an initial keep;
Each warped floor and winding stair,
Much worn by tramping feet.
No more in seat we’ll timid sit,
Thinking is it my time next;
An eight or a nine, or a zero what was it?
I thought I knew the text.
Oft we did sit in section room,
While the professor was “having his say;”
The wind howled by with a bang and a boom,
And the window frames rattled away.
No more to the hospital will we hie,
When the days task is hard,
To ride a “gim” fool “Doc” or try,
Is the way we played the card.
But, these things are gone we put them hence,
Deep buried with the past;
We look to the future and from whence,
Our die for fame we’ll cast.
We are graduated with diplomas white,
And a thing or two I ken;
That from henceforth we’ll try what’s right,
And show that we are men.