Blake School - Reflections / Call O Pan Yearbook (Hopkins, MN)

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To THOSE WHO, BY THEIR DEVOTION TO THE FLAG, ARE EXEMPLIFYING, in the ideal way, the Spirit of Blake; who are placing THEIR NAMES UPON THE ROSTER OF AMERICAN HEROES Our Boys in Service The Editors, in behalf of Blake School, affectionately DEDICATE THIS 191 8 VOLUME OF THE CaLLOPAN. Captains P. C. Harper Thomas Harrison, ’15 Lieutenants O. E. Horne Miles K. Lander, ’14 Harry W. Battin, ’14 Howard Selover, ’14 G. B. Clifford, Jr., ’14 Homer I). Ballard, ex., ’15 John W. Gregg, ’14 Joseph T. Moore, ex., ’15 Edward T. Mitchell, ’16 Enlisted N. S. Foss, Corporal Horace Bushnell, ’12 Sam VY. Robertson, ’14, Sergeant Herbert Clifford, ’14, Corporal Edwin H. Winter, ’14, Corporal Stanton Coffin, ’14 Bronson G. Lewis, ’14 Philip Barnes, 15 J. Stewart McDonald, ’15 Gerald Petterson, ’15 Bruce H. Puffer, ’15 A. Alan Rogers, ’15 F. M. Stowell, ex., ’i 5 W. Leonard Appleby, ex., ’16 Philip Benton, ex., ’16 Colbert Men F. L. Can dee William V. Freeman, ’ 16 James Gregg, ’16 W. Vincent McLane, ’i6 Sherman S. Ogden, ex., ’16 Russell Powers, ’i6 James McK. Thompson, ex., ’16 David J. Winton, ’i6 Robert C. Woodworth, ’i6 Martin K. Bovey, ’17 Charles B. Carroll, ’17 Byron O. Sewall, ’17 John C. Woodward, ’17 Donald Rogers, ex., ’ 18 Paul Bo Quist, ’19 EARLES, 21 9

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To Noah Sylvester Foss The Steadfast Friend, the Guiding Spirit and the Beloved Adviser of the Class of 1918. T) THEE, fair shepherd of our flock, Who, called to a duty higher still To serve that Master Shepherd of us all, Has left us in our fold upon yon hill, We reverent bow our heads. Sad is thy charge, and lonely, too, With thee long absence from its midst; Vet solaced by thy haste to duty, Clearly calling through fog and mist. May the Spirits keep thee! No longer do we gather ’round, As from thy seat upon a rock, Thy noble spirit pours forth guiding words To edify thy trusting flock. Thou art gone forth! No longer do we lie and listen To thy soft music’s sweet refrain, Of age-old tales and prophets, And laurels that heroes attain. Where, Music, hast thou gone? No longer do we scamp and scuttle As cheerily thou art wont to play I’pon thy pipes and magic lyrics, While slowly dwindles light of day, And slowly sinks the sun. Thy ballads sweet of lovely nymphs No longer soothe our fevered heads; Thy enchanting sylvan verses No more dispel our mystic dreads Of ugly ogres fierce. No more to guide our formless thoughts, Our every want and need to fill, Dost thou thy time and patience give Each day upon this barren hill, In rain, or fog, or shine. We mourn our loss in losing thee, And yet we wish thee all God-speed. New pastures open wide to thee: Go, thou, wherever there is need. Hope follows in thy wake. Give of thy heart, as thou hast giv’n, To those who need thee more than we. Thy spirit lingers on undimmed In hearts long since made pure by thee, As thy own heart be. Shepherd, gone art thou from the fold, And guideless is thy bleating flock: Gone, to serve the Supreme Shepherd, Aye, gone, an haunting voice doth mock; Gone, when to return? Yet onward must we plough ahead, Fresh strength in thy memory found; Thy conquering image leads the way, While thyself, to duty now fast bound, Serves Him on High. —Donald Voorhees Jordan, 1918 10