Long had the slanting beam of day

     Proclaimed the Thirtieth of May

     Ere now, erect, its fiery heat

     Illumined all that hallowed street,

     And breathing benediction on

     Thy serried battlements, St. John,

     Suffused at once with equal glow

     The cluster'd Archipelago,

     The Art Professor's studio

        And Mr. Greenwood's shop,

     Thy building, Pusey, where below

     The stout Salvation soldiers blow

        The cornet till they drop;

     Thine, Balliol, where we move, and oh!

        Thine, Randolph, where we stop.