In every year a new class has gone out from Harvard, having completed, its training according to the formula, and accompanied by mingled shouting and lamentation. It is always much as the old Greeks used to put their ships upon the sea, with rites to the adventurous rulers of destiny.

This year the Class of 1917 goes forth not with the previsioning of the class prophet, nor the jubilation of the class poet. Many men have gone to the four corners of the country. Many are in France, where the remainder will soon go, fighting for the one cause, although dissevered and apart. They have gone as the workers of the world go, unheralded and unsung.

We cannot tell them, as other classes have been told, to make a success, to win large rewards, that, returning a quarter of a century hence, they may be proud with the pride of possession. The old ambitions have departed.

We can tell them to be strong, to fight a good fight, to be loyal, to be valiant.