And a thousand strange sensations, race like magic through your brain,
And in just about a minute you have lived it all again.
It's a grand uplifting feeling, stealing over you once more,
Though your head is crowned with silver and you've lived to be three-score.
So tonight we'll harken backward to that well remembered day,
When the wheel promoted friendships that have never passed away.
Who can tell what 'twas that put the stamp of manliness and worth,
On those men who rode the wheel with us way back at cycling's birth?
They may tell us cycling's gone for good, and never more will thrive;
But we know its heart is beating yet—tonight it's much alive.
Do you ever get a greeting or a welcome more sincere?
Is your hand clasped any firmer, showing friendship half so dear?
Do you ever see your fellows with more gayety unbend?
Do you know a man more wholesome than an old-time cycling friend?
Do you ever get together where you see more hearty cheer,
Than you find when these reunions come on each recurring year?
How it makes your heart beat faster, and the tears stand in your eyes,
When—"I'm mighty glad you've come, old man, God bless you!" some one cries.
Shall I bring up scenes and tell the tales that all of you well know?
Shall I call to life dead memories of that time so long ago?
It were idle to recall them they are written on the heart;
And you count them 'mong the many things with which you would not part.
