Since June fourteenth, a long year past,
I've piped today. Today at last
The cherished
prize was won,
When all the Upper Classmen came
To shake my hand and call my name
Without a "mister" on the same.
Plebe year is
done!
That handshake paid for all the hell
That to our lowly lot befell,
And which each of us bore.
That clasp of hands was victory!
It showed for each of us that he
Was worthy of the Corps.
And surely, when we finish all
Our work on earth, will come the call
To form in the rear rank again;
A time when we will stand once more
Among the reunited Corps,
Out on the plain.
And when the last retreat is played,
When ended is the last parade,
And silent evermore the band;
May they consider then that I
Have held their trust unstained and high,
And grasp my hand.
