Mississippi College - Tribesman Yearbook (Clinton, MS)

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Senior Poem How many souls, by fickle Fortune’s favor blessed Since first those sacred columns barred the crimson west, Where I now watch have seen the lengthened shadows melt Into the gathering dusk? What yearning hearts have felt That with the dying light their college days were done: Have felt and longed to stay the swiftly sinking sun. Ah Mother, you have loved and nurtured us, have taught Our hoyish feet to walk the ways of men, have sought To tune our hearts to catch the pulse-throb of the day And beat in tune with it; and you have showed the way To win the wealth of wisdom from the past, and how To love our fellow men. — We leave you now. We turn our steps away. Long after we are gone Our hearts shall see the glow that burns upon The western sky and glorifies your dusky pillars silhouetted there. — Class Poet. Page Twenty-six

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Senior Prophecy J was walking through a woodland wav where happy Spring ruled in its wonted season. Birds trilled lyric music in the leafy palaces of the trees and busy bees and insects of a thousand names kept wonderful accompaniment. ] mused upon the scene in glee with ruddy glow of face and marveled at a wood so gay with life. “Why is this wood so gay ” I asked of a wood nymph who was attentively listening to a myth-throated bird lilting rapturous melodies. “Sir, it was not always so,” she said. “Our good Spring came once and drove the Winter away. When Spring first came there was a great war waged. “I remember well the contest and the line of battle. Winter enlisted on his side all pessimists and grumblers. Every cloud and frown. Every wrinkle and shadow of disappointment. His training camps were dark valleys where the mid-day sun shone palely and in vain tried to beat back the great dark and gloom. He trained his soldiers in dismal tactics where no justice prevailed; where the crippled God of despair blew the bugle calls and beat time. “But, Spring did not so. In the ranks of Spring crept every optimist in the whole land. The man who would rather see the eagle soaring in the heavens than see the serpent wending his slimy way along a damp marsh found a ready commission waiting for him in the army of Spring. In this army also was found the patient man ; the sober man ; the sane, considerate man. He was there who, tried by the afflictions of years, looked up to God in hope and waited for His good will in all things as one waits for a lily to unfold its white petals in fragrant purity and unity of beauty. He was there whose briny grief shows only through ever recurring wreathes of smiles. They all were there for the emancipation of men from the tyranny of wrong.” The wood nymph paused and a gentle tear dropped. “1 can show you better than I can tell you in words,” she said. She lead the way to a small picture play house and motioned for me to enter. Inside was the living scene being re-enacted. Words carry not enough of human tears, human blood, and purpose for me to describe the battle. Only this and it merely a glimpse: A patient man dying and his last words through frothing blood — “One more thrust for the cause of humanity”. Then the picture play house was quiet when the reel was through. Then another reel and I was spellbound. “The M. C. Call of 18, fighting the battles of life.” I sat and saw the familiar stride of manly fellows 1 had known elsewhere — not going to Zeus or Zed or Lit. or Lab., but the way of the few — the way of honor, worth, and sure success. — Class Prophet. Page Twenty -five

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MISS MARGARET WEBB SHARP, B.S. Clinton, Miss. “As great as she is fair.” This happy little maid is the only person on the campus who is universally liked. She is unvaringly sweet to everybody. Sometimes she doesn’t smile; she seldom Hooverizes on her generosity and no one blames her. She has a funny habit of making ten’s in all of her classes. And the Profs, have the funny habit of calling on her when the rest of the class has given perfectly “bone-headed” answers. Gentle in manner and sweet in voice ; she knits for the soldier boys and is the sweetheart of one of them. Graduate of Hillman college in ’14-T5; stundent-teacher Woman’s College, ’15-’16 ; Class poet, ’16-T5; Historian, ’17-’18; Art Editor L’Allegro, ’17-’18; the tjiird girl to graduate at M. C. Special distinction. Page Twenty-seven