The Song of the Sanctum.

Our sanctum is a happy den,

No place like it is found,

Its fame is gone through all the world

"From north to south-most bound."

Then sing we all a jolly song

To honor the home of the free.

Where cutting's allowed, yes every day,

And a summons ne'er we see.

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For oh, for oh,

Now list to our merry glee;

To exchanges and scissors and mucilage brush,

Our praises e'er must be.

/

A song of joy so let us sing,

A gladsome merry shout;

For our work is done, the paper's filled,

The shears have helped us out.

And all is ready for the press,

"Specials," and "facts," and "eds,"

For what's not written will be supplied

By the printer with "padding" and leads.

/

For oh, for oh;

Now list to our merry glee;

To exchanges and scissors and mucilage brush,

Our praises e'er must be.