Words by F.W. Memmott, Class of 1895 and F.D. Goodwin, Class of 1895
Music by B.T. Bartlett, Class of 1895
If you ask us why our mother
Took the purple for her choice.
And why each loyal brother
At its beauty should rejoice;
’Tis because this color choosing,
Wise monarchs wear with pride,
And when our boys seem losing
The Purple turns the tide.
Some vaunt the crimson, some the blue,
And some their honest green;
We’re to the regal color true,
Of Berkshire’s peerless Queen.
Tho’ rivals fain would scorn it,
And mingle it with white,
It’s our grand old royal purple,
And we triumph in its might.
They may drive us back by inches,
We strive to get the ball;
We hold our own by clinches,
Their gains are always small.
Their rushes may be clever,
Their interference fine;
There comes their last endeavor,
We’re on our fiveyard line.
They may lead us ev’ry inning,
We keep them hard at work;
And with little chance of winning,
We not a moment shirk.
They may be batting strongly,
Their fielding may be great;
You reason matters wrongly,
The ninth will make all straight.
While in life’s stern game we’re striving,
Our pluck can never fail;
That firmness still surviving,
We’re never known to quail.
Then we show a spirit royal,
As in the ninth our nine,
There’s still a “Stone Wall” loyal,
When we’re on our five-yard line.