SUCH A SHAME

How sad! Alas! Oh poor, poor me,
Looks like someone would care.
It seems but such a shame to see,
The way they always stare
And look at me, as though I be,
Some kind of odd nightmare!

Mother Nature goofed I fear,
When my design she tried,
And made my frame so very queer,
That "Dear Old Mother" cried!

Some who often come my way,
Wonder why I always fuss,
But how, pray tell, can one be gay,
When one is a "hippopotamus!"

BARBARA McCARTNEY     
'61             

AMERICA

I hear America working
In the grinding of the gears,
In the rumbling of the trolley,
In the wheels of industry,
And in the noisy farmer's tractor.
America is working, always working.

I hear America praying
In the cathedral,
In the synagogue,
In the chapel,
In the blessed home.
America is praying to her Guardian.

When I know She's calling
I think of a blessed nation
Of sweat toiled men building Her,
Of men born of truth,
Of God's generous abundance,
Yes, this is America!

GERALD LoCASALE     
'62           

Be kind and tender to the Frog,
And do not call him names,
As "Slimy Skin" or "Polly Wog"
Or likewise, "Uncle James,"
Or "Gape-a-grin" or "Toad-gone Wrong,"
Or "Billy-Bandy-Knees."
The Frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.

DON BROCK        
'62