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1925

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

To you, the Class of 1925,

All cups are raised in this, your hour of triumph,

Your time is ripe. The world is yours. Come, take it!

Through four short years, the best you've ever spent

Or e'er will spend, you've--well, what have you done?

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You've studied some, enough, perhaps, to learn

How small a thing a man is, yet how great.

If this you've learned and nothing more,

What matters it you can't recall the date

Of Caesar's crossing of the Rubicon?

The world cries out for men, not dictionaries.

And as forever you depart from hence,

Think over once again these wise old words

The Harvard sage, the greatest of them all,

Wrote down almost a hundred years ago:

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