University of Georgia - Pandora Yearbook (Athens, GA)

Page 31 text:

 Co tlN Hew Science Rail V ¥ WELCOME, thou late resident that dost mark An era of good will in those who sent thee here To dwell among thy aged sisters. For thou th apostle art Of new ideas, wondrous thought, gained by Darwin, Edison, Thomson, and others, who with gifted sight have penetrated The robe of Nature and have all but solved The secret of her life. Hut do not look with scorn Upon thy sisters here. Though clad in garments Sear and brown and bearing on their front The marks of time, their’s is a glorious past. From their good guardianship have gone Some whose deeds have left their names Deathless and hallowed in our hearts; Others whose hands still nobly bear Before us, the conquering banner of truth. Thy sisters here have paved the way for thee; Then on them look with reverence due. Be this thy task; To lead the reverent youth through all The paths of Nature. Nor fail—for if thou dost. Eternity alone can count the cost— To point each one to that Almighty Hand, Which hath so strangely joined by unseen band The invisible mote that floats around us To yon mighty globe that rolls its ponderous mass Among the celestial spheres. But him who'd follow thee with sacrilegious step, Turn back. Better for him to walk alone in darkness Than to follow thee some way and yet refuse To see the goal to which thy every path doth lead; For satisfied with but a little of thy truth, He'll live to lead the weak to th’ apparent chasm That doth lie athwart thy path and cry “This is the end!” Aye, be this thy noblest task: To lead by Nature's path to Nature’s God. W.

Page 33 text:

 Cbe Queen of Rearts. H, Love, so young and yet of ancient fame, Where is thy youthful boast, thy vaunting claim, That thou canst make the proudest bend the knee, And force the sceptic scorn to yield to thee? Thy charm upon his heart so softly steals. That all too late he knows and feels Thy subtle power and would his life reverse— His jeering laugh is turned to bitter curse. But what avails this poor and worthless prize— A blighted life, a few despairing sighs— Methinks these trophies sorry proof indeed, For one whose courage fails when most his need. Thy trusty bow is useless in thy hands, Whene’er an Athens maid before thee stands. The Master’s grandest work, so pure and true That e’en thy god-head bows in reverence due. To her whose matchless charm and winning grace, Whose lustrous eyes and smiling, radiant face Can scorn the coquette’s wiles and subtle arts, And fairly crown her reigning Queen of Hearts. When thou canst send thy swift, unerring dart To find its mark in that imperious heart, When thou has ceased to falter at her feet. Thy triumph then, oh. Love, will be complete. G. T. J. 31