Grant Hospital School of Nursing - Beacon Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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I1 e e a C 0 n nnunullIlnIulmmmlulIllIunuunmmumnumn nummmm II...,m...,..m,m.InIn,m.,m..mm,m,.,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,m aby Camp Days Oh, the joy of that morn of packing, And the sallying forth to camp, YVith half a dozen babies, And the energy to tramp. Arriving at our Country Home. lVe went about our work, Unpaeked our bags, and iixed our hunks lllith never a thought to shirk. Miss Currin, the Supervisor, Assisted by Sutton and Clark, Sure killed the idea in our brain That this Camp Life was a lark. Babies came, and babies went, As also did the nursesg And initiation exercises Caused a eonstant terseness. The nurses of this family group I now will name for your Pickens, Baughinan, Rudolph, Baker, Doran, Fiseus, toog Molster, Deubner, Shannon, Stockdale, Shumaker, Jennings, Shoaf, Cochran, Koeble, Fleming, YVible, Crahbe. No time to loaf. The faithful help we ean't forget - There were three of those, .l ust Mrs. Davis and Miss Green, And our steady Moss, NYC used each day in dining- Our first class etiquette- , . . . . lhe napkin ring, and everything- Wle never ean forget. Sometimes we were so busy. Dragging baby cribs about, That the laundry was neglected, And late passes were held out. l'was many a day we spent theres 'Twas many a prank we seoredg lint we never forgot our eity home- Nor rules and bulletin board. Oh, the joy on that morn of packing, And the seurrying back to Grant, lVe'd had mueh work-we'd had some fun- YVe were glad to leave the eamp. Eiylity-one

Page 86 text:

B ...-.--.l High ty he eacon Little Feet There is no music quite so sweet As the patter of a baby's feet. WVho never hears along the hall The sound of little feet that fall Upon the Hoor so soft and low As eagerly they come and go, Has missed, no matter who he be, Life's most inspiring symphony. There is a music of the spheres Too line to ring in mortal ears, Yet not more delicate and sweet Than pattering of baby feetg lVhere'er I hear that pit-a-pat IfVhieh falls upon the velvet mat, Out of my dreamy map I start And hear the echo in my heart. 'Tis difhcult to put in words The music of the summer birds, Yet far more difficult a thing A lyric for that pattoringg Here is a music telling me Of golden joys that are to beg Unheralded by horns and drums, To me a regal caller comes. Now on my couch I lie and hear A litte toddler coming near, Coming right boldly to my place To pull my hair and pat my face, Undaunted by my age or size, Nor caring that I am not wise- A visitor devoid of sham YVho loves me just for what I am. This sofe low music tells to me In just a minute I shall be Made captive by a thousand charms, Held fast by chubby little arms, For there is one upon the way NVho thinks this world was made for play Oh, where's the sound that's half so sweet As pattering of baby feet?

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8l1COTl E lllllillll lllllll lllllll IIlllllllllllllllllllllll E Eighty-t