Worcester Polytechnic Institute - Peddler Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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.

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 12 text:

8 Perchance you’ll find within its leaves Some things you’ve seen before, Some moldy, patched-up, whiskered joke Which made old Adam roar, —Some antique saying of some Prof, Which wore out, vears ago, Some story which has circled ’round A thousand times, or so; But should you find some word or thought Which stirs your interest, Some sentiment which fits your case, Or new idea suggests, We’ll feel repaid for all the ink And paper we have lost, For all the cans of kerosene And feet of gas it’s cost, For all the cuts we’ve had to take And, all the head aches, too We’ve suffered in the search we’ve made For something fresh and new. Then in the years to come, we know, ’Mongst Classics we shall find, Most highly prized, this Aftermath Of Eighteen Ninety-nine. 1