By Irene Welk and Max Kapp
Where the silvery Mohawk’s flowing,
As it wends its peaceful way
There’s a spot of fondest memory,
To Alumni, young, or gray,
There, our dear old Alma Mater,
Stands throned midst hills of green,
As the white clouds bend over her,
She’s the fairest ever seen.
Oh, her sons and daughters love her
With a love that knows no end,
And with garlands fair entwine her
As her honor they defend.
For her ivy walls are sacred
To the scenes of glad spent days,
And our voices rise in parting
As we sing her endless praise.