OUR PROFESSION.

There's an art in our profession,

Which cannot be wholly learned

From all books in our possession,

Though their leaves be deftly turned

Till the mind shall grasp the meaning

Of each truth they may contain,

Yet there remains a gleaning

Not a product of the brain.

One may know the truths of science

Till his mind may have full store,

Or may place some great reliance

On ancient and modern lore;

He may count the stars in heaven,

He may trace them in their course,

And from data that is given

He may prove creation's source;

He may use the best of diction

To portray his studied thought;

He may draw from truth and fiction

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