The footsteps pass. The trees remain,

Green in the sun or bare in rain.

The trees by seasons root and grow

Over and under paths that go

Where pathways go, from gate to gate.

The bell rings hourly, early, late.

The doorways stand. The windows wait.

Along the Row and across the grass

A thousand thousand footsteps pass,

Are faint, and fainter, then no more

On curving walks, at the Chapel door.

In empty classrooms, all July,

The high walls see the sun go by.

But summer over, and next September,

The rooms and bells and trees remember.

The skies and doors that arch above

Know what we need and where we love.

Four more rings on trunk and bough,

And some of our blood is tree-sap now.

The work we did, and all we said,

Or hoped, or thought, is never dead,

Never forgotten, but lives, lives here,

All rich and real, all known and near.

This is the campus, year by year.

This is the College, name by name,

By games, by loves, by books, by laughter

Living till now and long hereafter.

This is the way our footsteps came.

None of the least of them is lost.

The oldest tree in the cold wind tossed,

The brightest room on a friendly night,

The solemn pillars round and white

And strong forever under the roof,

Are all we need of promise and proof.

We walked the paths. We heard the bells.

We know the story the campus tells.