Poem by Henry Van Dyke

Urbs Coronata

(Song for the City College of New York) 

O youngest of the giant brood 
Of cities far-renowned;
In wealth and power thou hast passed
Thy rivals at a bound;
And now thou art a queen, New York;
And how wilt thou be crowned? 

”Weave me no palace-wreath of pride,”
The royal city said;
”Nor forge an iron fortress-wall
To frown upon my head;
But let me wear a diadem
Of Wisdom’s towers instead.” 

And so upon her island height
She worked her will forsooth,
She set upon her rocky brow
A citadel of Truth,
A house of Light, a home of Thought,
A shrine of noble Youth. 

Stand here, ye City College towers,
And look both up and down; 
Remember all who wrought for you
Within the toiling town; 
Remember all they thought for you, 
And all the hopes they brought for you,
And be the City’s Crown.

1. The Wind of Sorrow
2. War-Music
3. Nepenthe
4. Sea-Gulls of Manhattan
5. The Ancestral Dwelling

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