Enshrouded here in flame flecked purple dawning,
Alma Mater in frozen silence lies in ashen pause.
Ended now her throes, midst red death's yawning.
Through battle bleak of slickered teams ' gainst flaming claws.
No more the pressured sprays with soothing waters pumping
upon the ancient, wasted, weathered brow;
Queen-mother's pulse no more in her bosom thumping;
greatness lies in pallor spent; blank, unseeing eyes are staring now. The regal head has sagged, royal trappings in rubble lie;
bells have tolled; nobility rests embedded in her ashes.
To the summit come children of the valley-far too stunned to cry. Across the hills to other valleys word of tragedy colossal flashes. Nay, good townspeople, say not your queen lies now supinely dead!
Hold back the solemn requiem! Stifle the knell of that tolling bell! Know not a daughter - queen reigns benignly in her stead?
Sing out a grand Te Deum; summon clarions the hopeful news to tell.
Yea, O'Neill, your Alma Mater lives! Divinely crowned, she'll carry on!
Sound forth the grand "Amen"; no trifle kind Providence's token. Each tomorrow brings a promise; today is Cross-spired hope's new dawn!
Long live St. Mary's, learning's queen! Hearts of her realm have spoken.

~Sister M. George, O.S.F.