The daily morning journal and courier., 1907-06-25

Ihat Iarthest taper-llgnt Wlhk other
 stars, And other earths and suns and planets
 wheel iLt Then did our second Mother spread be-
 fore Our -clouded eyes the luscious
 fruits. Mellow and rich with age, of poets old; And we have learned from her 10 As doth the weary Arab, screened at
 eve, In some cool. fiowery spot from fever His golden wineof palms. And at her The pageant of the past revived; from And sepuchre we saw dead warriors,
 kings, M Gigantic shapes, start up to dominate Once more their little worlds, then van Tn the vortex of the panoramic whirl. She thought us through the rise and
 fall of Men. Beliefs, and Nations. how from dust Has striven ever upward toward the Perfection; and now we live but to Upward; God-men if we will be.
 And then Our guiding Mother-splrit drew our
 steps Into an open plot where shouting
 throngs Lashed on their fellows with applause,
 who strove For college wreaths. Atlre to join the
 strife, We, eager girt our armor on and Into Inc frav And some. with ioy
 have won The alluring crowns of praise, and same
 have left The lists with looks downcast and ach-
 ing hearts. But whether we have won or lost, that
 strife Should make us men. For here our
 spirit-guide, Far more than in her tasks, has taught
 us this: Though losing, still to strive; forget to
 hate, Be kindly to the lowly, true to friend And gracious to our foes. This Is the Our Alma Mater set for us; these are The things she taught. An, mighty is Queen Moor Mahal ne'er did for Shah
 Jehan What Vale has done for us. What
 spotless Tai Shall then enshrine our gratitude? For
 each Of us must build, and every life is A sanctuary we shall rear for her. Look we'll, then, brothers, that each Each flowing curve be true: for she
 whose name We praise in the stonemusic of our Is greater far than Moor Mahal. What
 boots It where life's ocean that cen now
 1nrims full To bear us upon its tides, may cast Us up? It may be in a hell of war Where bullets splash, battalions surge,
 and waves Of horesmen, finglng up a spray of Wash to and fro upon field of blood. It may be in some fiery desert place Where caravans, agorge with orient
 loot Writhe serpent-like across the burning
 winds. Of tunneled granite, that cleave the
 marts of trade, Where men. pursue the phantom moth
 of gold That still eltides them, spreading gild- sEU WlHES, To coast the farther from them on each Of hope. But wheresoe'er 1t be, we'll
 live The life she taught us, we'll build her
 shrine too firms For fear of shock from storm or flood.
 And now The gates swing wide. Beyond, life's
 hungry sea Is roaring 'sWelcomeW We must un-
 clasp our hands. One lingering look at these beloved
 halls M And towers: A tear if none Is nigh to A parting grasp,-and then to Be and
 Do! Farewell. my brther-builders, build ye
 well add yale commencement stuff set day. Edward H. Hart of Brooklyn, New York, was the class orator. His sub- ject was university Idealism." MT. Hart said:
 Mir. Hart's Class Oration. A common criticism of the value of university life and training Is that it the ideal. There are some who hold that this idealism is of such visionary, impractical sort that often men emerge from the university unfitted for contact with the stern, intensely practical conditions of every day life. This criticism is not wholly without basis. Whether to good result or bad, universities have at all pe- riods of their existence, on many oc- oasiot,s and ir, many lands stnnd fnrth