As students to shiver, like leaves in the breeze,
If we chance to infringe on his rules or decrees?
Then have pity, ye gods, who look down on our case,
Shut from Bar, Bench and School Board, and every fat place,
To pick up the pennies that oppressors fling down,
For cutting and stitching, and clothing the town.
Oh, the tyrant’s sharp lash, his “pooh pooh’s,” and his sneers,
Will be all the same in a thousand years.
Ah! ’tis not the same in a thousand years;
How sweet and how pleasant our life now appears,