“Sons of my four years’ nurture,
Ye who have eaten my bread,
Pause ere you take the journey
Down the wide roads ahead!
Listen! that I may tell you
In simple speech and plain,
How from the debt that ye owe me
Ye may quit yourselves again!
The wisdom of generations
I have spread for your delight;
And the truths that men have died for
Ye may claim as your simple right.
Heirs of the hoarding ages,
How use ye your legacy?
Masters of many talents
Render account to me.
III
“Are ye puffed with the pride of learning?
Are ye pleased with the praise of fools?
Have your minds grown cramped and narrow
With the lore that ye learned in schools?
Has your knowledge made you slothful,
And your culture made you vain,
That ye think to gain without labor
What another must toil to gain?
Then are your years here wasted
As pearls that are cast to swine!
Then are ye servants of servants,
And no true sons of mine!
For they who began behind you
Shall pass you in the race;
And untaught men shall shame you
In the open market-place!
IV
“From the quiet heart of the mountains
Ye must take journey, down
To the world, that is ever careless
Of the skirts of a scholar’s gown.
And the sheltered life of college
Ye must leave behind you then,
And bear your parts in the battle
Where men fight hard with men.
There there is naught to help you
But your wit and strength of limb,
There every man is your master
Until you have mastered him.
For a great law governs the fighting
And all are ruled thereby—
‘He that is strong shall conquer!
He that is weak must die!’