Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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COMMENCEMENT NUMBER THe E PAs TeR GOS Page Bighteen THE SENIORS’ FAREWELL. We're quitting now our studies here, The time to go is drawing near; We’ve worked and done our very best, And stood the last great final test. So we think it’s but our right | Since we have worked with all our might, To give instruction, to the rest So they can work with greater zest. We leave to the Juniors proud and tall, Our possessions here, but one and all And sincerely hope, but scarce expect Them such a record as ours to erect. To the Soph’s we leave our high regards, And hope that they’ll win great awards, When they advance to our old place And bravely strive to run the race. To the Freshies one little word we say, And that is this, ‘Don’t get too gay;” | We know you're bright and all of that i But don’t get a head too big for your hat. To the teachers our thanks we tender, As the best thing which we can render; And hope they’ll say when we’re not here, That they wish for a class as good next year. And now a word to all we’ve spoken We've done it as a hearty token, Of our good will to each and all And further, just within the hall You'll find the dear old looking glass, Keep it as a remembrance of the Senior class; We now are done and humbly ask Leave to return to our appointed task. We leave the High School walk forever, And our connection with it sever, Farewell, we say, farewell to all Remember the Senior proud and tall. —Hx. A SENIOR CLASS SONG (Tune of Heidelberg.) O dear old school, O dear old class! Shall ever we forget The golden haze of Senior days? ’Twill cling around us yet. These Senior days will come no more, But through our future years The thoughts of 1910 so true Will fill our eyes with tears. O Senior days, fair Senior days, Shall ever we forget The bluish haze of old Trig. days That jar the nerves as yet? Those blessed hours will come no more, But through our future years The thoughts of these, though now a bore, Will streak our cheeks with tears. FROM THE SENIORS Hurrah for the Senior, the class of the wise, To us all scholars must turn their eyes, When for a good pupil our teachers send, Their eyes always tail on a nineteen ten. In all of our studies we make a score, Unequaled by any class here-to-fore. In virtue and knowledge we now surpass The pupils of any other class. And when our place as Seniors we have gained Far and wide shall we be famed; And after we have left this good old place Each toward us, will turn his face. —Ex.

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Page Seventeen THE BAT RI.O T COMMENCEMENT NUMBER crowded with joys. Then came the realization that these would cease suddenly and that we would go our separate ways. But I dared not think of this. My heart filled with hope, the hope that our future would be as bright as our school days had been. Again I looked from the window, this time to see the entire landscape clothed in all the freshness of spring and breathing out hope, beauty, joy. FLOSSIE ALLEN, ’10. TO THE TEACHERS. Who is it runs old S. H. S., And gives us all those horrid tests In which we’re sure to get an x? The teachers. Who knows just how to do a thing ; Be it to talk, be it to sing, Who knows, in fact, most everything? Our teachers. Whom do we love in S. H. S. Who are in fact the very best And by the gods are surely blest? Our teachers. Who is it that gave to each his start, From whom are Seniors loath to part? From those most dear to every heart, Our teachers, —Ex. Who says that each one in our class ee Would easily as infants pass, MY FIRST ORATION. Because we give them all our sass? My hands did shake, The teachers. My knees did quake, My ears turned red, Who doth our moral bodies stunt And this I said, With long reports that do affront “I wonder.” Our souls, and all our senses blunt? The teachers. My head whirled, My fingers twirled, Who keeps us in at half-past three My paper fluttered, And turns a deaf ear to each plea And I stuttered, To let us just this once go free? “T wonder.” The teachers. : If they knew, Who tells us we must hustle round When I was through, The world, with knowledge to astound What I had said, To reach the goal for which we’re bound? Being half dead, Our teachers. “T wonder.” Who tries to make us higher aim “I love a Fresoman,” said Bobby one day, That they may some day see our name “T love her and love her as well as I may, Inscribed upon the walls of fame? And of course you must know she returns it with grace, Our teachers. So by now we’ve worked up a most terrible case.”

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Page Nineteen T H E Alumni Notes Nellie A. Balsley, ’00, is teaching school in.San Juan county, Utah. Joe Ormsby ’06, Everett Craig 06, Clara Rapp ’06, Christine Lebline 06, Bertha Montgomery ’06, Roger Craig ’08, Matilda Leb- line ’09, and Charles Rottman ’09, are students at Indiana University. Anna Rucker ’07, is teaching at Uniontown. Henry Cobb ’07, and Alma Switzer ’08, are at Hanover. George Appel ’08, Carl Seulke 09, James Enos 09, are at Purdue. Harold Ritter 06, Agnes Cobb ’08, are at Franklin. Lynn Bollinger ’06, Wilhelmina Vehslage ’07, are at Depauw. Will Masters ’05, is at Harvard University. Harlan Montgomery 705, is a senior at Princeton. Clem Roegge ’09, is taking post graduate work. Lynn Heller ’09, is working at Terre Haute. : Charles Phelan ’08, is working at Louisville. Mabel Niemeyer ’08, is attending Business College. Minnie Shepard ’08, is at Oxford. Elsie Cordes ’06, is teaching in the grades. Helen Andrews ’06, is studyi ng in Chicago. TO FRANCES Like unto those great authors of ol Whose stories brought from heaps of gold, Who wrote these great and wondrous tales Which hath attained such marvelous sales. Is Frances. As a rival of Chaucer and Lickens and a.l, Both Lamb and Irving and Hawthorne tall, She weaves the web of fiction well And many a beautiful story doth tell. Doth Frances. As higher the ladder of fame she climbs, And gives to the world her stories and rhymes, May the laurel crown adorn her brow, And fame and fortune may they bow To Frances. —Exch ange. BPeAnT Ror.O''F COMMENCEMENT NUMBER BACCALAUREATE HYMN ae To Thee, O God, whose guiding eye ie Our fathers led across the sea, A home to find on these bleak shores Where they might freely worship Thee. To Thee, O God, whose thought inspired se } Our fathers in that wilderness NY To leave their sons this heritage That all might feel its deep impress To Thee, O God, whose mighty arm Encircled it with power divine We bow before Thy gracious throne Devoutly in Thy praises join. God of our Fathers, bow thine ear, And listen to our humble prayer, Direct us with Thy watchful eye, Protect us with Thy constant care. —Ex. SECRETS OF SUCCESS “What is the secret of success?” asked the Spring. “Push,” said the Button. “Never be led,’ said the Pencil. “Take pains,” said the Window. “Always keep cool,” said the Ice. “Be up to date,” said the Calendar. “Never lose your head,’ said the Barrel. “Make light of everything,” said the Fire. “Do a driving business,” said the Hammer. “Aspire to great things,” said the Nutmeg. “Be sharp in your dealings,” said the knife. “Find a good thing and stick to it,” said the Glue. “Do the work you are suited for,’ said the Chimney. “Progressive Herald.” Mr. Donaker—‘“How do they mine iron ore?” Cullen B.—“I heard ma say the other day they smelt it.”