Mississippi College - Tribesman Yearbook (Clinton, MS)

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John William Provine, Jr. In Memoriam With golden strings my harp is strung, And dulcet strains my harp will give; As Joy and Sorrow mingled live, Mingled are Joy and Sorrow sung. The ways of God we do not know, But Faith sustains the Christian soul, Till Time unroll the mystic scroll, And Light Divine shall inward flow. The morn is calm, no sound is heard, Despair provokes to silent tears, For stalking Plague inspires with fears, And strongest hearts are strangely stirred. September, eighteen ninety-seven, All hearts were sad, no words could tell The gloom that on the village fell, As if Cod ' s wrath were sent from heaven. Mid scenes like these a child was born- A fathers hope, a mother’s joy Were blended in that infant boy, On that resplendent autumn morn. Disease departed, Hope returns, Reaction dissipates the pain; The heart, with courage filled again, To meet its sacred duties yearns. In time the child to manhood grew, And deeds that stir a mortal frame. And guarantee a noble name, Combined he with a purpose true. The college bell, commencement call ! With class assembled on the stage, A man in mind, though boy in age, Behold the Youth beloved by all ! From books to arms. War calls the Youth, And lie regards the call Divine, True manhood knows not to decline A call, when in defense of truth. To country his allegiance sworn, J he youth who truth’s clear vision caught For freedom not for conquest fought, And joyed in hardships bravely borne. Year, nineteen hundred and eighteen, The month, the day, the hour, eleven; “Cease firing” was the order given ; Command obeyed, the world serene! The battles won, no war to wage; The khaki with the epaulette The Soldier dotted, because the debt Of Peace was paid for all the Age. () Love, thy true abiding place Is tender hearts of those who dream; Thou dost unite what separate seem, Dost clothe thy devotees with grace. The worthy Youth a soul sublime To his had knit, by Love’s commands, Joined were their souls, but not their hands. The Shadow veiled him ere the time. God speaks in strange mysterious ways, And calls His own — both young and old— To dwell in realms of bliss untold, Throughout the Age of perfect days. O Youth ! thy foot-steps still I hear, Thy face is still before my eyes, And standing neath the bending skies, Thy voice still greets my listening ear! —A. J. A YEN. Page Twenty -two

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The Old Chapel Hail, noble temple of eternal truth ! Thou birthplace of God’s freedom for the mind, Thou scene of resurrections of men’s souls, Thou hallowed shrine of heart’s devotion pure, Thou trysting place of those who long to feel The tender pulses of the Heart divine ! From grey foundation stones to sun-crowned peak You stand, memorial of a glorious past ; While the Corinthian colums tall that guard Thy portals wide stand there as monuments Of all the undimmed splendor of thy years, And symbols of our ideals, noble, free. In thee did bloom the Old South’s chivalry Till on thine ivied walls did break in tears The warclouds of a land baptized in blood. And when our Southland staggered, horn anew, You welcomed her brave heroes from the fields Where souls went through the fire of strife and pain. Now in thy whispering echoes soft and low The vows of loves of long ago 1 hear ; While holy anthems sleeping in thy walls For long decades shall wake and blend their strains With the refrain of heav ' n’s exultant song. The voices heard in thee and long since hushed Echo with truth in lands beyond the sea, The gospel heralds of the great birthday Of love and peace and joy upon the earth. And when Time’s ravages have laid thee low Let thy dust be as sacred as thy years, As gold upgathered for the diadems That shall adorn the shining saints of God ! GORDON HURLBUTT. Page Twenty-one

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