OF mighty sons now sleeping and of mighty sons to be, Born of thy cogent spirit as broad as the boundless sea, Dartmouth, our Alma Mater! Thy dreams are the deeds of men That will sweep us on to the crimson dawn of the golden age again; Mother of fearless yeomen whose battle cry is "Right," Into the world thou sendest us, and thy command is "Fight!" Fight for the ideals cherished, fight for the true and good, Till our infantry win victory 'neath the flag of brother-hood. Many thy sons are sleeping, their trumpets are silent now, But we who carry thy battle-flag may yet fulfil thy vow; Dartmouth! Our Alma Mater! Our dreams are the deeds of youth, Yet girded with might we shall rise and fight for the endless cause of truth; Into a world that's struggling in the iron clutch of wrong We shall take our arms and muster them to the strain of thy battle-song, And the ideals shall be cherished, the beautiful and good, Till our infantry win victory 'neath the flag of brother-hood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BUTCHER SHOP by DAVID IGNATOW ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO A WILD BEE by MARY ANN BROWNE VACATION HINTS FOR YOUNG VERMONTERS by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY OUT FROM PARADISE by MARY JANE CARR |