Texas A and M University - Aggieland Yearbook (College Station, TX)

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Fore-Word If the perusal of these pages in years to come will serve to bridge the past and bring to mind, in priceless memories, the joys and pleasures of the four years just gone; if this humble result of our untiring efforts will in the evening of life, be the vesper bells for devotion to our alma mater of old; then will our fervent prayer be answered and our fond hopes realized. —The Editors.

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The Long Horn (Written by Judd Mortimer Lewis for The Long Horn.) Sometimes when the air, and the moon, and the sky. And all the conditions exactly right, When the masses of piled-up clouds drift high, On the western plain can be seen a light, A red light blinking across the dark, Like the danger sign of a railway lamp, And then, if the watcher will stand and hark He will hear the sounds of a cowman’s camp; He will hear the song by the cowboy sung When The West was young and her ways were strange, And the care-free laughter and chaffing tongue. And the oaths they swore on the old time range; And away in the shadows beyond the flare Of the ghostly camp, when the air is still. He will see the mass of the longhorns there, And their horns will clash as they weave and mill. And men who now sleep ’neath the Texas skies Come out of their graves in the ghostly light, And don their slickers and send their cries And old time signals across the night, And mount the ghosts of the ponies fleet They rode in the roundup of years agone, And ride with a pounding of ghostly feet The shadowy herd till the streaks of dawn; Then, with waving blanket and ghostly yell, Comes the redman urging his ghostly steed, And out of the mists in the wild pell-mell Comes the clashing horns of the wild stampede! And the cowmen start from the ruddy glow Of the prairie camp to the swift surprise, And the guns speak swift as the shadows flow And dissolve and scatter beneath one’s eyes. And the old time range is a dream once more, And the longhorns far on the shadow-trail, And the mighty men of the days of yore, Of mighty heart and far-flung hail, Ride back on the trail of the ghostly herd To the land of ghosts and of unfenced plain. And the standing corn by the morn is stirred, And the breeze is bending the ripened grain, And the school house stands on a grassy knoll, And the farm house stands in the poplar grove, And where the prairies were wont to roll, And cowmen followed the feeding drove, Are roads and fences and pens and roofs, And gone is the glory of the days of yore, And gone is the thunder of flying hoofs, And the longhorn feeds on the range no more. 6

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President R. T. MILNER