And cast a longing eye,
On Matthews' massive pile of bricks,
Where my possessions lie.
Between us rolls a mighty flood
Of muddy slush and snow;
Unless I trust me to its waves
My rooms I must forego.
The heads of struggling sinners bob
Upon each tossing crest;
Some sink exhausted in the strife, -
The waves they cannot breast.
Some reach at last the promised shore,
But sink exhausted down;
The breakers' harsh and deafening roar
Their shouts of triumph drown.
I knew a youth whose valiant heart
Urged him to brave the flood.
Right proudly on the granite steps
The youthful hero stood.
He glanced towards the distant shore,
And fire was in his eye.
I knew too well that he was bent
To conquer or to die.
Next day, when dawn's bright smile looked down,
It saw a bit of plank
Which Jones had placed to mark the spot
Where that brave student sank.