Boston College - Sub Turri Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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As the dewy shades of even Gather o ' er the balmy air. Page twelve

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Gratitude (dedicated to our parents) Ours is the song of the heart That has lived and loved and yearned; Ours are the eyes of youth That have seen your toil and burned. For love can never leave lips In words from the heart ' s pure flow; And lips can never tell love That is smouldering deep below. Our eyes have welled at the task Of speaking with thankful light; And tears have spoken instead The grain of our gratitude ' s might. The years have mounted your deeds While we mutely pondered and sighed; Too weak to shoulder our lives, Too strong to thank in our pride. Then list to the song of a heart That has known your labor and learned; Nor wonder our song is so still Till the internal incense is burned. Francis L. Ford, ' 23.

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ALMA MATER The helpless eaglet, in its lofty nest, Devours the fleshy food its mother brings, And waxes stronger with each passing test Until the first faint flutter of its wings ; Then practice, and the pinions softly soar, And soon they cleave the blue in fearless flight : So Alma Mater feeds with potent lore Her timid tyros on the hallowed height. Their growing - strength her nurturing care bespeaks; With spreading ' wings her valiant sons soon rise Above Homeric cliffs and Vergil ' s peaks Through realms ethereal to Reason ' s skies ; And with the guiding light of Truth to shine Victoriously gain the golden goal divine. Joseph D. McCarthy, ' 23.