At Temple Bar in Alma Mater's arms;
And, lighting pipes provided by McCarthy,
We'll call a truce and end our strife's alarms,
Wash down a rarebit cooked by Moriarty
With Traeger's brew, that balmiest of balms,
And sing Lang Syne in chorus strong and hearty,
Till stately Deik is raised from T - 's charms!
Shake hands once more, ere Smintheus skips from sight,
And from your fences let your offspring yell!
If you are weary of the four years' fight,
And care no more to linger in the mell,
We'll hide the hatchet of our ancient spite
And o'er it toll an everlasting knell.
Twine with your blue Columbia's blue and white-
Quod fausta sis, Old Yale! Shake hands once more,-
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Class of '91.