Columbia University College of Pharmacy - Apothekan Yearbook (New York, NY)

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FOREWORD As we approach the grand finale, the last performance of the class of 1948, we might pause for a moment of introspection and self- appraisal to determine what, if anything, dis- tinguishes this class from any previous graduating class. The present graduating class is not a single entity, with a common inception dating back to freshman days. It is a hybrid, containing members ranging from the class of 1944 to the class of 1948, fused by the fortunes of war into one graduating class. As against the obvious disadvantages of a disrupted education, we have at least one compensating factor: on our return to college, we not only met new faces and made additional friends, but many casual acquaintanceships which were formed dur- ing freshman and sophomore years have been renewed. In this post-war era they blossomed into friendships whose roots go far deeper than the mere implication of classmate. In the face of a diversity of backgrounds and beginnings, we have worked shoulder to shoulder during the past two years. Now. as the curtain rings down on our final per- formance, we can step forward as a unified cast to take our bow — we proudly present the Class of 1948.

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APOTHECARY S PRAYER O GOD, Great Master Of the healing arts, Bless my slow unwieldy hands; Make skilled and sensitive My fingertips for all demands, As counter for disaster. Fill my mental starts With keenness; let me live That other lives may through Deft medium of my science Pursuance find in health. Let each capsule that I count Yield strength-rewarding wealth; Each liquid that I mix anew, Each ointment for appliance, In all and each amount Be healing prayer. Let me ne ' er forget Thy generous Providence Held within my trembling hands. Help me justly execute, dispense, And be cautious of my ware — And while life ' s hour-glass yet Runs, with the doctor guide its sands. Place within my heart Alert and wholesome fear, Lest I misweigh a single gram And death comes stalking from my shelves. Make impotent limbs to walk, pain And sorrow ' s counterpart With my potions disappear; And God, give hope unto themselves. -Sister Mary Junilla, Ph.G

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DEDICATION PROF. HORACE M. CARTER