Furman University - Bonhomie Yearbook (Greenville, SC)

Page 28 text:

Senior Class Poem No sadder lines a poet ever rote Than those which mark the hour for fr.ends to part; No dagger penetrates the soul so deep As kindly words which rend th’ impassioned heart. But grateful we, though now our day is spent. That others come our long-loved paths to hold. To them we hand the dampened pen that long Hath kept alive the treasured story old. Thou, classic walls, our dwelling place hast been. Thy strong, protecting hands our way have led ; We give to thee the laurels we have won And place the crown of gold upon thy head. Tho’ we have won, the victory is thine; I ho’ we have gained from thee, thou hast not lost; I ho’ stronger each, more able each to serve. Our highest aim shall he to serve thee most. W e must away, the final scene grows dim. The curtain drops, we hear the closing bell. But this one time, pray give us leave to speak Like faithful sons, the parting word—Farewell. Poet. Bonh omit?