Chicago State University - Emblem Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

Page 27 text:

The Song of the Lower Seniors Courage, comrades, yonder lies a land. Far-famed at Normal, called the Practice term. A land of dreams! some good, some bad. For many are the tales the bards have sung. Of former students trained as even we. Who traveled the same road that we have trod. Their conflicts fierce, their joys and triumphs sure Their cares, mistakes, and fears to us are known. For we have heard the stories they passed on. Stories of critics kind, who censure well. And youngsters dear, whose quaintly winning ways Add charms and gladness to the work Before us lie, in dim and hazy mass. Programs, stories, and all things else That do combine to vex a student ' s soul. The lesson plan — a fearful thing! Unmerciful, stands waiting to be written. Forward, lower seniors, arm for war! But ere we leave this pleasant shore. Let us review the deeds that we have done In the happy days which now are gone. First we crossed the wilderness of Gifts. Here all was strange. Balls we were given Of many colors, then cubes, a sphere, and sticks. Next with blocks of wood we builded. We were ever urged to be resourceful Until we seemed of all ideas bereft. Tablets, sticks, and rings next we met. And with these our journey ended. Yet in this land were spots of light. Instructors kind did make the hours pleasant. And oft in games we sported. Next on the sea of ' Occupations we embarked. Here storms o ' ertook us, and thick fogs. Originality seemed lost, and hard we searched To find her. When the weaving was o ' er She came again, and blessed us. We worked with needle, paste, and shears, And many and beautiful are the things we made. This voyage was most pleasant. For jest and laughter accompanied us. These, and music, made us brave To meet and overcome that monster, Principles, which inhabits these waters. Entered we then a forest, large and dim. This is Mother Play, and no light enters Save in sudden gleams thru the tree-tops. Illuming for an instant some dark nook. And finding a flower where none seemed to be. All is lovely here, w ith woodsy smells. And sound of far-off tinkling waterfalls. And oft to a sunny hillside we were led. Where we charmed the hour with stories. Thus happily this journey we have ended. We now stand ready for the future dim, And wait with quaking hearts our doom. Elsie Swift. f

Page 26 text:

The Rob in ' Twas in the morning circle, ' Twas a stormy day, The wind was fiercely blowing. Where would poor robin stay? The song they sang was ended. The robin in his barn; The teacher asked the babies: What does it mean — that yarn? Tell me when ' s a robin? And when ' s a robin, not? Now sit up nicely in your chairs! And this is what she got. ' The song we sing of ' robin, ' That we sing in our ring. This song says that a robin — A robin ' s a ' poor thing. ' Florence Fox. The Waste-Basket To pick up the scraps A basket was passed — A basket lined with tan. Alike turned to me, And said in his glee, Let ' s t ' row ' em into de can. Florence Fox.

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