University of Wisconsin Oshkosh - Quiver Yearbook (Oshkosh, WI)

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Among God’s little ones slio lives Xor longs for tilings beyond; But to that chosen work she gives In gentle, calm, and patient ways The fullest measure of her days. In the oflice oft wo see her, daily note her patient poring, Poring over teacher's records, records made in varied writing. See her making up the notice for rhetoricals, our delight. S( e her straightening out our rewords, as we tell her we were tardy, And explain our misdemeanor and she sends us forth rejoicing. Clara Marvin, friend of students; Clara Marvin, record koo| or. In our memory slialt thou linger. In the library with a pile ()f books almost as big as she, Sits this blue-eyed little fairy, Always busy as a bee. With a smile that’s ever cheerful. Does she greet the student corps, And the oftener they see her They love her yet the more. Jkfioof. acHoof. (ttormaf JScBoof. rC?ljcrc eoergttfing 10 bone 6} ruffe, TEtfcrc off tfyc Cprofo arc tmoc anb funng. 0«b tftc gtrfa arc Srigtyf anb otveet as ftoneg. Page twenty

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Look and see on this page above Tli© picture of one we truly love; The picture of one with a thoughtful air, Helpful and kind beyond compare. In each student’s heart a place hath she. We’ll remember her always wherever we be. “She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth lightly harmonize; Keeling or thought that was not true Xe’er made less beautiful the blue t'nelouded heaven of her eyes.” Kind is her reign as the reign of a Queen adored by her subjects, When at the end of a quarter, harassed and worn and worried The practice teachers seek her aid and children cluster for standings, Then is her soldier-like spirit wonderfully shown and apparent. Kindness, precision, and sense combined with wonderful wisdom, Dominate her life and express themselves in her hearing. Miss Mead . of course we shall miss her; Miss Mead every Normal girl loves. Hut nowadays they say in a queer secret way. She hath a strange fancy for doves. But jierhaps they don’t know Time only will show, If they’re right. “She is a woman: one in whom The springtime of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume. Tho knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears.” Page nineteen

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