And mix in humanity's throng.
O, glad be the voices that ring through thy halls
When the echo of ours shall have flown,
And the footsteps that sound when no longer thy walls
Shall answer the tread of our own!

"Alas! our dear Mother, we see on thy face
A shadow of sorrow to-day;
For while we are clasped in thy farewell embrace,
And pass from thy bosom away,
To part with the living, we know, must recall
The lost whom thy love still embalms,
That one sigh must escape and one tear-drop must fall
For the children that died in thy arms.

"But the flowers of affection, bedewed by the tears
In the twilight of Memory distilled,
And sunned by the love of our earlier years,
When the soul with their beauty was thrilled,
Untouched by the frost of life's winter, shall blow,
And breathe the same odor they gave
When the vision of youth was entranced by their glow,
Till, fadeless, they bloom o'er the grave."

A most genial account of the exercises of the Class Day of the
graduates of the year 1854 may be found in Harper's Magazine, Vol.
IX. pp. 554, 555.


CLASSIC. One learned in classical literature; a student of the