Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The

If Youth Be A Defect, It Is One That We Outgrow Only Too Soon.

Over Our Manhood Bend The Skies; Against Our Fallen And Traitor Lives The Great Winds Utter Prophecies; With Our Faint Hearts The Mountain Strives, Its Arms Outstretched, The Druid Wood Waits With Its Benedicite And To Our Age’s Drowsy Blood Still Shouts The Inspiring Sea.

A Marciful Providunce Fashioned Us Holler O' Purpose Thet We Might Our Principles Swaller.

In The Gain Or Loss Of One Race All The Rest Have Equal Claim.

't Is Heaven Alone That Is Given Away; 't Is Only God May Be Had For The Asking.