IF tears could cure our bitter grief,
And aye the weeper gained relief,
We 'd change our gold for tears.
But things are not so in our day,
And the world goes the self-same way,
Whether we weep or no.
Then nothing can we do, 'it is clear,
For, like a tree, grief bears a fruit, - the tear.
F. A. T.
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The Freshman Crew.