Lipscomb University - Backlog Yearbook (Nashville, TN)

Page 5 text:

Five In life, to accomplish any task worth while, it is essential to have a love for the work; and this love must take a definite form, if it meets the approval of a stern world. It must be formed in well-ordered facts. We admire and venerate men of all ages who have contributed to the world stock that will stand , the test of time. Fully conscious that nothing worth while is gained without effort, and that effort has always had its reward, we leave this as a catalogue of our efforts and achievements. “4 EM Gs 3 Vif On @ a Dai AS t-te. Nit; pa PP?

Page 4 text:

A THE BACK LO MOTHER Save in heaven, there’s not another name so sweet, so hallowed. Deep from the heart it leaps, it springs; softly hovers on the lips, and sings of love and happiness. There is never a heartbeat out of time, never a nature out of rhyme, with mother. FATHER Ah, what name doth strike a clearer chord of feeling, with strong emotion, deepest love, and rare devotion? It sets the heart aflame. “Honor thy father.’ Yea! For his brow a crown we bring, be he cottager or king. Two

Page 6 text:

SIS ast ; {OTHE BACK LOG ,. Ode ie) iG It stands as a statue on Granny White Pike, With purpose so loyal and true. A meadow lies back in the distance; Beyond rise hills to my view. The roads cross near at right angles, Traversed by pomp and array. With a campus that glistens like fangles, I’ve watched it there many a day. In memory’s hall will hang this picture; And though troubles the years may glean, It will hang with a beautiful gilding, And well shall I love it, I ween. As I view it from every corner, In the sunshine or in the storm, I see the great love of its founder That Christ to the lost might be borne. The teachers well I shall remember; My heart will long keep them in place. Though by the world they could be forgotten, Their memory no time can efface. They meet us with smiles in the threshold, And in that brick temple of art They’re weaving with the skill of a workman Their touch on the mind and the heart. We sit in our classrooms at bell call, And are admonished so kindly when late To think of the opening future, And dream of our manhood’s estate. O, days of my boyhood! I bless you, While looking from life’s busy prime; The treasures will e’er linger with me That I gather from life’s early prime. When from my view this place is hidden, Many things I may come to forget; Yet I’ll always pause with fond memory The faces so fondly I met. I’ll see very oft the old meadow, And the hills behind it so blue, Away in the charm of the distance. Dear old David Lipscomb, ’tis you! CLAYTON L. JAMES. Six