(Song for the City College of New York) <br /> <br />O youngest of the giant brood <br />Of cities far-renowned; <br />In wealth and power thou hast passed <br />Thy rivals at a bound; <br />And now thou art a queen, New York; <br />And how wilt thou be crowned? <br /> <br />"Weave me no palace-wreath of pride," <br />The royal city said; <br />"Nor forge an iron fortress-wall <br />To frown upon my head; <br />But let me wear a diadem <br />Of Wisdom's towers instead." <br /> <br />And so upon her island height <br />She worked her will forsooth, <br />She set upon her rocky brow <br />A citadel of Truth, <br />A house of Light, a home of Thought, <br />A shrine of noble Youth. <br /> <br />Stand here, ye City College towers, <br />And look both up and down; <br />Remember all who wrought for you <br />Within the toiling town; <br />Remember all they thought for you, <br />And all the hopes they brought for you, <br />And be the City's Crown.<br /><br />Henry Van Dyke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/urbs-coronata/
