Oglethorpe University - Yamacraw Yearbook (Atlanta, GA)

Page 10 text:

My Dedication By Thornwell Jacobs ehovah, God of Sabaoth, to Thee I dedicate the labor of my hands, I, one of many millions of all lands, Pray, bending, Holy Father, at Thy knee. One of Thy sculptors lays his chisel by And searches for a Master ' s kindly smile. From Him whose guiding hand had all the while Struck every blow this newest tool would try. This line I grave that all who read may know: Wherein I struck for that whereof I dreamed. Thou knowest. Lord, how light the struggle seemed, Aye, Thou, Whose hand alone did strike the blow. Of some I heard: I will not! ; some, I fear! And some held back till Victory was said, And some most wisely doubted how the dead Could ever rise from out her sable bier. So, out of all my love for all her past, Out of my deep desire for what should be. There came this wondrous thing; that I could see. Yet follow, blind, the die that I had cast. But surely there were footprints on the sand. And everywhere I found the way prepared By Him through Whose wise whispers I had dared To hold the tool He fitte d to my hand. Ah, Lord, how little do we men below Yet understand from whence Thy footsteps tread? Of all the millioned words that men have said What one reveals the whither Thou dost go?