Georgia Military College - Recall Yearbook (Milledgeville, GA)

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I 'a i a+...'j iflfl- at 1.35 1 ' ' H 'ff-ef nlstgmmvif lgll J, At the foot of a hill, wisdom's broad temple standsg . 5 As pilgrims from her, we were sent. Il, She gave us like baskets and bade us search well, x .. And to gather each step as we went. lk' . , . l' 'lc For mixt with the stones, that bestrew our steep path-- There are jewels, unseen at a glance, V , And strange these are fewer the higher we climb, And these few are gotten by chance- And strange too, whenever we stoop for a gem, We find a flower unseen before, And the gem is enlapped, in the roots it keeps moist. While the blooms we seek, blossom no more. Thus wisdom has given us baskets at first- Higher up. opportunities thing And she who stoops soonest, soonest gains her niind's store, And bedecks all with joys that are twin. While we who have dallied along our bright way, And gathered its poppies aloneg Who have waited to seek for the gems further on, Will find, to our grief, few or none, And our subtle mind baskets that spoil from misuse By play are both injured and torn While the petal lost Corymbs, and few gems we find Are lost through the rents that we've worn. Then let us take heed to this parable friends, While yet there are heights we may gaing With Timels golden thread, we may mend the sad rents And gather the gems that remain. We view the new charm of the down-sloping hill And think of the happy time sped Our Youth-time, our May-time, our best time-good-bye! We must on, With the past, thou hast fled. NEI. 1 'J ?':T?z.- 9 -1 .f7 1' e v-. , ju i 1 l . l in 'L l ll w fi? I l L SIMS. i .11- 7 H 4

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Class Poem 1921. Dear Classmates. we have climbed near the top of our hill. To a spot where we rest for a-bye- While we sort out our treasures and look far below- At the things that eluded our eye. Far in the sehool's recesses withdrawn, Old school hooks sit in sulleness and gloom, And most excellent lessons gone Lie deep within the shadows of the school-room. History. with all its charms-- Spanish. Latin. Trigonometry, that almost hows us to And last of all the Class Poem of 1921 Will glide to thy dim realms and will be hound. Thou hast several of my best years, Thou hast my earlier woes-fractions- And 'rithmetie sums yielded to thee with tears, Composition blots, and all sorts of school day distractions. ,Tis come at last. the time when we must part- An hour of sadness? Yes, perhaps 'tis so, For months and years- All hand in hand We've trod the path 'til now the parting of the ways Revels for us a distant, untried land. ,Tis our lot to tread its winding ways, To share its griefs, to taste its joys awaiting us in distant days. School days were our May-time, our youth-time, our best time Have we cherished this time on the way? While we whisper our thanks to our dear faithful guides, Have we followed their guidance each day? A the ground, for work

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