Iowa Wesleyan College - Croaker Yearbook (Mount Pleasant, IA)

Page 202 text:

X stands for Neatness, so much wished for by all. If you’ve never seen it just visit the Hall. O is for Oatman, who rings the old bell. Of triumphs and victories it often does tell. P stands for Philbert, philosophical gink; To work up this rhyme it took lots of think. Q is for Quest, a search or a hunt. The back of the book is never the front. R stands for Rouge, makes your face nice and rosy. That’s why Lucilc Whitney is so like a posy. S is for Strollers, on the campus so green And down the “K Line” they often are seen. T stands for Truth; stuff told by this staff. Of all of their knowledge they’ve told but the half. U is for Universe, of which we’ve learned much. If the Kaiser wins out ’twill belong to the Dutch. V’s for Vacation, when we pack up our trunks, Go home for a time and return with Dad’s plunks. W’s for Wesleyan, the best toast of all: “We’ll look for you there when the bell rings next fall.” X for ’Xeuses, so hard to obtain. Without them your strivings for grades are in vain. Y is for Yellmaster. He acts like a fool; He toots his big horn and roots for the school. Z is for Zero, the grade we all dread. This poem’s all over; the last has been said.

Page 204 text:

“IF” (WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING) If you can study hard when all about you Arc having spreads and dreaming time away; If you can douse your light nor make commotion When “ten o’clock” you hear Miss Voorhees say; If you can sleep eight hours and not get tired of sleeping, And join the hiking club and walk for miles, And all the time the rules of honor keeping, And yet don’t pay too much attention to the styles— If you can dream and not let Doc Leist catch you; If you can chew your gum and still get by; If you can meet with Prof. Blair’s jokes and railings, And treat these two impostors just the same; If you bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, Twisted by Profs to drive you out of school; Or work and work for diaphramatic action, And stand before the class and act a fool— If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To work o’er Luebbcr’s papers long and deep, And still rave on when there is naught to urge you, Except the bluff that says to you: “Say on”; If you can make one heap of all your knowledge, And risk it on one difficult exam, And lose and start again at the beginning, And never breathe a word about your loss— If you can raise your hand when Miss Booth questions, And talk of kings, it matters not how much; If neither dates nor dynasties escape you, Nor mar her scats by e’er so slight a touch; If you can make a hit with your professors, With mingled knowledge, bluff, and pleasant smiles; Yours are the grades and all that’s with them, And what is more, Iota Phi, my son.