CLASS SONG. 1874.
The past is vanished like a dream;
Before us, viewless to our eyes,
A silent-flowing, misty stream,
The dark, uncertain future lies;
But peering through the gloom we seem
To see dim, 'beckoning forms arise,
Which hold our destinies in store,
And greet the class of Seventy-four.
And now our voices high we raise,
To bid these classic shades adieu,
Forgetting not the vanished days,
But pressing onward to the new;
All going in divergent ways,
But every one remaining true
To the dear old class of Seventy-four.
Farewell, farewell dear Seventy-four.