Within the Auditorium
In the foyer sways the human massThru the doors into the great rotunda.Up the winding stairs the people pass,To the balcony seats ascending.East of the central doors a portrait we see,President James in gown and crimson hood.West, a beautiful bronze of memory,—Ruth among the alien sheaves, low bending.
Crescent shaped the rows of seats extendWithin. Above, the great dome sparkles with lightsOn the stage green folds of velvet lendDrooping softness to the long, harsh lines.Dominating the space above, UlyssesWatches Penelope's maidens spin. The title,"Everybody Works. But Father," his easeHas won from the gay, irreverent students.
