“‘Old classmate, say
Do you remember our Commencement Day?
Were we such boys as these at twenty?’ Nay,
God called them to a nobler task than ours,
And gave them holier thoughts and manlier powers,—
This is the day of fruits and not of flowers!
These ‘boys’ we talk about like ancient sages
Are the same _men_ we read of in old pages—
The bronze recast of dead heroic ages!
We grudge them not, our dearest, bravest, best,—
Let but the quarrel’s issue stand confest:
’Tis Earth’s old slave-God battling for his crown
And Freedom fighting with her visor down.”