Urbs Coronata

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

“Weave me no palace-wreath of Pride,”
  The royal city said;
“Nor forge of frowning fortress-walls
  A helmet for my head;
But let me wear a diadem
  Of Wisdom’s towers instead.”

She bowed herself, she spent herself,
  She wrought her will forsooth,
And set upon her island height
  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 their hopes for you,
  And be the City’s Crown.