The First Tradition

Behold Johnston Gate, your path to tread,

But heed these rules or fate shall spread.

Once offered your acceptance's hand,

A ticket to Ivy land.

Through iron and brick, truth guides our way,

A symbol of equality, where knowledge holds sway.

Thirteen schools united, diverse in might,

No one above another, in the pursuit of light.

Hold proof of entry, firm and true,

An emblem of what's soon to brew.

A letter, token, or knowing friend,

Your journey's start, your fate to mend.

Hold not your acceptance with arrogance untamed,

For elitism's poison, a dream may maim.

In unity we stand, each scholar a star,

No hierarchy divides us, no matter who you are.

With whispered Veritas in the air,

Step through the gate, a pledge to bear.

But once you cross that hallowed line,

Before your program's start, in due time.

For if you dare before your chance,

Your dreams may falter in advance.

To pass before acceptance knocks,

A choice that fate forever locks.

And then in robes of knowledge donned,

Upon graduation's morn,

Exit the Yard, the center gate,

With wisdom earned, you'll celebrate.

Declare Nos sumus Harvard strong,

A journey ended, yet life goes on.

Through gates of tradition, now set free,

A scholar's journey, an odyssey.

Yet caution, friend, as you proceed,

If exit's taken before you're freed,

From academic toil and grace,

Graduation's rightful place,

Then fate might cast its somber spell,

A future tale that doesn't end well.

So hold the gates as rules decree,

A symphony of legacy.

Through Johnston Gate, the path unfolds,

With tales of hope and stories told,

A woven fabric of time and place,

In Harvard Yard's embrace.