Chilhowean 1916 . (58). (59) The Passing of the Gang Lift the glasses high, boys; Weve reached the last good-night;Dry the glistening eye, boys; No use to strike a just sit by this ruddy fire And listen for a spellTo those sweet and solemn stories That old Memory has to tell;Well sing those dear old songs, boys. That Sixteen always sangWhen old Pug Hale came out so well As leader of the gang. But Frank went off and left us; It hurt to see him missed him in that Sophmore year With all its fuss and feasts, and fights, and Friday nights, When Fessor Mac belowCame oft alo

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Chilhowean 1916 . (58). (59) The Passing of the Gang Lift the glasses high, boys; Weve reached the last good-night;Dry the glistening eye, boys; No use to strike a just sit by this ruddy fire And listen for a spellTo those sweet and solemn stories That old Memory has to tell;Well sing those dear old songs, boys. That Sixteen always sangWhen old Pug Hale came out so well As leader of the gang. But Frank went off and left us; It hurt to see him missed him in that Sophmore year With all its fuss and feasts, and fights, and Friday nights, When Fessor Mac belowCame oft aloft, intent to quell The noise above, a noise like thunderFamiliar sounds to Sophmore ell,To Kidder, Park, Dave, Alex, Bill,To Oscar, Rankin—its no wonderThe patient Prof, should call it thunder;For four long years Carnegie rangWith the echoes of that gang. Those Freshman days were balmy days;And, spending them together,We never cared a feather For their length; and rays Of recollection still are shifting, sifting. On

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