But flushed in waking or pale in rest,
With leaves on her hair or with snows on her
breast,
Forever the fairest and noblest and best,
All hail to her sacred walls !
chorus.
All hail to the College Beautiful !
All hail to the royal throne,
Whence, her heart within her burning,
Silver-voiced, far-eyed Learning
Looks upon her own !
SLEEP.
I LAY me down before the rustic gate
That opens on the shadowed land of
sleep.
I famish for its fruits and may not wait
To quaff the drowsy waters cool and deep.
I knock, O Sleep the Comforter ! Again
My weakness faints unto thy great caress.
The circling thought beats blindly through the
brain
With dull persistency of barren pain,
And draws uncertain doubting and distress
To prove that man unto himself is utter weariness.
