Belmont Abbey College - Spire Yearbook (Belmont, NC)

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Dedication We have chosen to dedicate the SPIRE of 1962 to a priest, educator, administrator, counsellor, and friend. As a priest, he has impressed all who know him with a calmness that we realize can come only from a living faith and trust in God. As an educator, he has taught many of us math, engineer- ing, and mechanical drawing. As an administrator, he has served the college for many years as Aca- demic Dean and Registrar, respectively; he was also largely responsible for the s u c c es s f ul and speedy completion of O ' Connell Hall. As a coun- sellor, he has helped us to prepare our courses of study and has given us confidence in our abilities. And as a friend, he has shown a sincere interest in the general welfare of the entire student body. As a token of our deep appreciation of Father Jude Cleary, O.S.B., let this SPIRE stand as an ex- pression of our hope for his continued health, hap- piness, and a long life in service to Belmont Abbey College. Father Jude saying the Conventual Mass.

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Under the Oak I am the Oak. Of old, God ' s Hand hath set me Standing here. Much have I seen, Heard many a tale unfold Around my stem. In clash of arms A nation ' s Youth went by, The trot of horses, the tramp of men in Blue and Grey, Crossed the Catawba and marched by night this way From Mount Holly and on to Richmond Hill, Where some creid: Victory, some lay still. In Peace beneath my arms. When King ' s Mountain was sunset stained with red. And lovers came to make their tryst, perchance to wed And, all unknowing, their secrets shared Unthinking that an old oak kenned or cared. Then came the Cross To establish Pax. Though prisoned with the walls of Piedmont clay, I shot aloft to catch the light of day; Growing in their midst with new stability, I gave them arbor and quiet tranquility. Then came the monks. And with them I came to know their chants and hymns, The strange chatter below my limbs; The tolling of the sac ring bell, Or solemn stroke of the passing knell. Listener was I, When far below me, Leo, Belmont ' s first Abbot, spoke Like England ' s Austin ' neath Kentish oak Faith ' s needs to his little band. Spoke with accents of a foreign land. Watched I often ! As the compound changed. A Cathedral sprung from a chapel-shed, A new wing wooed from the red earth-bed; Sons of Subiaco, Cassino, and Fountains, Builders of Benedict in Piedmont ' s Mountains. I am the Oak. Of old, God ' s Hand hath set me A witness of a tale half-told; I too must take my rest, grow old. My shadow, no longer from the sun, A mark in verse of a tale begun. A mark in verse of a tale begun. Bertrand A. Pattison Oblate of St. Benedict