Unlike the battlefields of men,
Where blood flows o’er the plain,
And eyes must meet the fearful sight
Of conquered victims slain,
Our battlefield the school-room was,
Where we have fought and won;
A conflict noble in its aim,
Nine months ago begun.
Oh! how we hoped and how we feared,
As day by day slipped past,
And we kept pressing towards the mark
We hoped to reach at last.
Whilst oft discouragement, the imp,
Would whisper in our breast,
“’Tis folly to continue on;
Go, leave it for the rest.”
But “onward, onward,” was our cry,
Though all around looked dim,—
No cowards we who fear the storm,
’Twas either “sink or swim.”
And our commander at the head,
With truly master skill,
Did spur us on, and teach us how
Each duty to fulfill.
Through the maze of outlines, straight and curved,
Step by step, he led the way,
Till hooks and circles, large and small,
At length seemed plain as day.
To his true service much we owe,
And each of us, to-night,
In a vote of earnest, sincere thanks,
Do heartily unite.
We meet to part, on this last night,
Yet shall we fondly ever
Turn to the happy hours spent
In Mechanics’ Hall together.
And always shall our hearts respond,
Ever grateful shall we be,
For the kindness of the gentlemen
Of the G. S. M. and T.
Through them our lives shall brighter grow,
Through them we shall aspire
To better, nobler aims in life,
Leading higher, ever higher.