The daily morning journal and courier., 1896-06-23
COMMENCEMENT AT YALE.
0Contlnued from First Page.l

The real exercises of Yale commence. ment week began yesterday with the presentation exercises in Battell chapel at II o'clock, when the class Ioem written by Arthur Ripley Thompson of Hartford was read by him, The chapel was completely packed with the mem bers of '96 and their friends. The poem was in three parts, The first part dealt with the days when Yale was still you and then led up to the time when '96 entered college, and the old Row remained unbroken. The re- mainder of the poem is as follows:
 II. A dreamer dreamed his thread of life
 was spun Unto the end, and that the flores three Were thoughtlessness and selfshness
 and sin Dreamed that a world of trivial, tran
 sient aims Had dlmmed each ideal, chilled each
 true resolve; And sharp contrition smote him, and
 remorSe Burned in his soul; but cruel death
 bent low And hissed his mockinG whisper in his
 ear: "Too late thy sorrow, for thy days are
 spent" .. Then wildly from dark death he beg
 ged this boon: Yield me one day-one hour-that I
 may do For God-for Truth-some great re-
 deeming deed.'' But he grim Spectre could not grant his
 prayer Then on his soul preyed Misery, and
 the flame
 ly, Weeping, he woke-and heard a robin
 sing Woke to the fragrant breath of fields
 abloom, And saw the glory of the summer
 dawn Stream gladly through his window,
 bearing free It's boon of life and promise, hope and
 youth, If we, awak'ning to the worth of life Here at the threshold of our primest
 years, Own our great opportunity while yet Time bends, a slave, before us-if we
 rouse And fling from off our shoulders the
 dead weight Of apathy, the cynic's bitter scorn, The selfishness that blights the nobler
 deed, And so, with glad, indomitable hearts, Go forth and serve, in measure as we
 may,
 posed men Then not in vain we knew these clolster
 walls;s -. s.s Then our own sorrow will grow lighter,
 lost Tn wide sympathy for all who grieve, And our own joy will be made mani
 fold For being blended into others joys Let us be faithful unto our best selves; If then we hear no plaudits-get no
 praise Small matter! Shall fidelity not win More than a days applause or wreath
 of fame, Knowing the sunshine of the smile of God, And guerdoned by the singing of the
 soul? Deep in the meadow grass A rose was born, The cherished nursling of a summer morn; Nor romping lad or lass, Nor priest, nor swain, Who chanced along the winding mead ow lane,
 Espied it's pale pure bloom, or ever knew How it's fair petals, kissed by sun and dew, Had opened rathe, and at the bending 1 blue l O'erhead had smiled Fen as a sleeping child, l Touched by soft mother-lips at dawn Smiles as it wakens, happy to be drawn l Out of the land where sweet dream | fancies be
 Into a far more sweet reality. 1 In lowly beauty day by day | The wee rose bloomed then dropped | and passed away; | Yet was it's gentle life not lost on earth, Though all unmarked it's dying and it's l birth
 For once wild bird clinging to it's l spray, | Was gladdened by the flower, And all one joyous hour Outpoured it's little heart unto the skies | In ecstacy of song; | And far away
 Plodding the dusty road along, With doubting, downcast eyes, | Was one who heard The rapturous carol of the bird And drank it's meaning deep into his heart,
 And wist not that a rose had played its
 part.
 THE CLASS GRAFTON,