The bells of McGraw are the air of Cornell,
Every breathing form chimes in.
The Big Red is in our veins
and our song—
Every beating heart climbs in.
Cornell gathers as one
For Odysseys on the land of Ithaca;
In unison we sing the Cornell name,
and like our architects—the song builds
To the high points of Bradfield, Milstein,
the Johnson Museum—
Architecture that has the nation singing the praises
of the constructive minds
this program raises.
Like the pillars of Victorian and gothic—we align,
Mapping construction’s apex—by design,
Our forward progress is one that’s breaking:
News, molds, bounds, and grounds;
We delivered journalism to college degrees,
Reshaped engineering to model what’s found:
A reflection of catharsis throughout this town,
In landmarks like Sage, where founders
Knowing their broad charity will give on,
And they, and our traditions, will live on.
Cornelliana sings of our amore,
It seeps & keeps—the red core,
A tradition of fire that grows each day,
Up to the height of year’s end:
Cornelliana carries our campus in link,
With wins carried in tow on Lynah rink,
This wide student body shares the same red wagon,
Spirits lifted and moving like the Cornell Dragon.
The fire of our chorus—sounds in our bells,
The song of our spirit—each student exhales,
We breathe this fire that vanquishes hell,
Found in this heaven—
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