Capital University - Capitalian Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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The rising bell . . . The luckless fellows who had over slept were black-marked if they found no good excuse. 12-

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There was a man whose administration Led through a full third of the century. His name was Otto Mces, son of old Rabb. Tradition says that his own student days Were marked by sundry daring peccadilloes: Perhaps he helped to stripe the college horse, Or set a surrey on a pig-pen roof Some dark and half-mysterious Hallowe’en. He was a man whose versatility Was coupled with his wise ability In understanding men and destinies. He was a stalwart man, rooted in God, And bound by love. His long administration Battled through two hard wars, one black depression, Struggled against defeat, disintegration. While all this time, behind his dancing eyes, Mees marshalled forces, dreamed a million dreams, And with these two moved earth and opposition. He was an artist in whose work is seen The essence of creative mind and hands. He saw the needs of Capital far better Than any living man, and on those needs He acted, with a will as strong as iron. The president who came in forty-six Was Yochum, filling Mees’s time-worn chair; His was no easy task: the school was large. And years had crystallized the thought of men. The president was calm, his black cigar Flamed red, then smouldered on; his puns became A campus expectation. (The grapevine voice Tells of the day in slippery December A co-ed fell upon the icy walk. As books and person sprawled around his feet He asked who gave official permission To drop those subjects.) And as he labored on Some dreams were given form. - 11 -

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It seems miraculous That through the years of strife and desperation These men could keep alive that spark of faith Which nearly flickered out. but glowed again And lightened up the dark. The years of service Are witness to a throng of earnest men Whose dreams assuaged their bitter disappointments, Whose faith made possible unending toil In ardent hope that, someday, empty hands Might find the distant prize within their grasp. Our history is little more than this— The record of a hundred years of faith Wrought out in simple acts of reverence. Faith in the will of Him who gave command To strive, forgetting mortal weaknesses, Faith in the cause men felt was truly right. Their Christian obligation to fulfill. Faith in the God who made the universe And who had sealed His servants to His will. We. as our faith dips deep into their faith. Affirm in our own lives that heritage Which makes us strong. Our little fears forgot. We stand erect, sublimely visioning The glorious promise of the years to come. Forgetting finally the tribulations Of the years now past, we turn our eyes To new ambitions warmed by ardor’s fire. 'Fhe past is gone. The unformed future waits. Tomorrow is a lump of clay to mold To our own will. Our mortal strength alone Cannot suffice. Our plan to shape tomorrow Falters without the God who is our all, And to His purposes we dedicate All that we are, all we shall ever be. — 15 —