(Lines read at the dinner given to its members upon their retirement)

HAPPY the man who with steadfast devotion
Walks through the turmoil where passions are rife,
Feeding one flame of enduring emotion,
Bearing unshattered the urn of his life.

Bright o'er the bay the gay sailboats are dancing,
Cutting like birds through the waters of youth;
Bold to the fair come the paladins prancing,
Sidling and eyeing the prizes of Truth.

Ah, in the press, in the clash of the onset,
How many strong riders and sailors are thrown!
The gala of morning is past, and at sunset
With wrecks of bright talent life's ocean is strown.

Few,—the unswerving, the slaves of endeavor,—
Beat homeward in trim, gallop in to our cheers;
The prizes they win are our prizes forever,
Though earned with their labor and bought with their tears.

Then welcome the mind that through sheer concentration
Imprisons the world in a gem or a strain,—
Throws open our soul to the rays of creation
And gives us a glimpse of life's morning again.

O servants of Art, 'tis a hard road ye follow;
Here poets and thinkers and mystics have trod:
Rough, upward, and steep are the paths of Apollo,
But round them shines ever the light of the god.

Then chant we a hymn for these sons of the lyre,
How humble soever the pæan we raise;
Our wreath must be laid by the altar whose fire
Has waked us to gratitude, friendship and praise.
April 21, 1917.