Classic Poem

George Trustrum, ere the day be done,
I send a word to you.
Pale primrose masked the rising sun
The setting bids adieu
In roseate veil to all the fears
And all the hopes of bygone years.

And I look back to joys long fled—
The boat, the “yarn,” the height
Of Bradda's crown; but you, instead,
Look forward with delight.
God bless you! may each sun that goes
Give you the primrose and the rose!