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CLASS SONG. 1874.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

II.

The past is vanished like a dream;

Before us, viewless to our eyes,

A silent-flowing, misty stream,

The dark, uncertain future lies;

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But peering through the gloom we seem

To see dim, 'beckoning forms arise,

Which hold our destinies in store,

And greet the class of Seventy-four.

III.

And now our voices high we raise,

To bid these classic shades adieu,

Forgetting not the vanished days,

But pressing onward to the new;

All going in divergent ways,

But every one remaining true

To the dear old class of Seventy-four.

Farewell, farewell dear Seventy-four.

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