Worcester Polytechnic Institute - Peddler Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

Page 10 text:

6 Come, gather round, ye grisly grinds Who’ve trod the paths of toil. Draw near all ye who seek a sine, —Who waste the midnight oil, Come on, all ye who look for curves —Imagine things in space,— All ye who wear out brain and nerves, And shoes and pencils waste. Come all ye courtiers of the Djuke, Ye “ Babes ” of Kinicutt,— Ye smell-soaked Chemists from the Labs, (Be sure to bring the pup.) Ye steam-dried Hoboes from Reevesville Who fool with latent heats, Ye ’Lectric stars, who work Smith’s will, And monkey with blue streaks,

Page 9 text:

I N the preparation of this Aftermath, our sole aim has been to make it of lasting interest to the Class of 99 and its . friends. It has been our ambition that this book should faithfully reflect our life at the ’Tech in J its more prominent features. If, in years to come, this feeble attempt at something better shall serve to reawaken past emotions, or to bring before our mind’s eye the former scenes connected with our four year’s sojourn together, the Editors will feel that their labor has not been entirely in vain. Let it be known, if anyone is convinced that injustice has been done him, that the Editors possess and are skilled in the use of a most modern “ shooting iron,” and can furnish obituaries to order, but rather let it be remembered that “ To err is Human , to forgive Divine .”

Page 11 text:

7 Ye Civils who, thro’ telescopes Lands and fair maids survey, Who fill the earth with little pegs And barber poles, each day. Ye suff’rers, sick of English Lit, Who’ve traced its gaseous growth. Ye Orators of Poly Sci Who left it, nothing loth. Ye mouth-tired murd’rers of Sci Dutch, Who’ve read between the lines ; Ye analysers’of flue-gas, Ye seers of ergs and dynes, And all ye hewers of the wood, Ye busters of machines, Ye greasy, dirty, unkempt gang, Who sport the bright blue jeans. In short, come all ye convicts, who Have served, or do, or will, Your four year’s sentence grinding At hard labor on the hill. Then gather round, ye motley crowd And view, with proper awe This product of the mightiest minds That ever Tech Hill saw; Remove your hats and bow your heads, All work and care resign While we present this Aftermath Of Eighteen Ninety-nine.