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Title: The Science Club
Author: Robert F. Murray [
More Titles by Murray]
Hurrah for the Science Club!
Join it, ye fourth year men;
Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub,
Whose years scarce number ten
Join it, divines most grave;
Science, as all men know,
As a friend the Church may save,
But may damage her as a foe.
(And in any case it is well,
If attacking insidious doubt,
Or devoting H--- to H---,
To know what you're talking about.)
Hurrah for the lang-nebbit word!
Hurrah for the erudite phrase,
That in Dura Den shall be heard,
That shall echo on Kinkell Braes!
Hurrah for the spoils of the links
(The golf-ball as well as the daisy)!
Hurrah for explosions and stinks
To set half the landladies crazy!
Hurrah for the fragments of boulders,
Surpassing in size and in weight,
To be carried home on the shoulders
And laid on the table in state!
Hurrah for the flying-machine
Long buried from sight in a cupboard,
With bones that would never have been
Desired of old Mother Hubbard!
Hurrah for the hazardous boat,
For the crabs (of all kinds) to be caught,
For the eggs on the surface that float,
And the lump-sucker curiously wrought!
Hurrah for the filling of tanks
In the shanty down by the shore,
For the Royal Society's thanks,
With Fellowships flying galore!
Hurrah for discourses on worms,
Where one listens and comes away
With a stock of bewildering terms,
And nothing whatever to pay!
Hurrah for gadding about
Of a Saturday afternoon,
In the light of research setting out,
Coming home in the light of the moon!
Hurrah for Guardbridge, and the mill
Where one learns how paper is made!
Hurrah for the samples that fill
One's drawer with the finest cream-laid!
Hurrah for the Brewery visit
And beer in liberal doses!
In the cause of Science, what is it
But inspecting a technical process?
Hurrah for a trip to Dundee
To study the spinning of jute!
Hurrah for a restaurant tea,
And a sight of the Tay Bridge to boot!
Hurrah, after every excursion,
To feel one's improving one's mind,
With the smallest amount of exertion,
And that of the pleasantest kind!
[The end]
Robert F. Murray's poem: Science Club
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