THE BATTALION
17
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BOWLING
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ODE TO ENTOMOLOGY.
We loved you, litle sharp-eared wop,
We Fish of Twenty-Three;
And now, there in dog heaven
Our thoughts do rise to thee.
You owned the whole cadet corps.
And ’twas your lawful right
To choose your habitation,
Both morning, noon, and night.
Although you loved the seniors,
The juniors, and the sophs,
To “Twenty-Three’ you trusted
The getting of your broths.
And never did we fail you.
Wee bit of dog flesh, you,
’Though often, in a “23”
We shaved the hair off, too.
You knew tho, why we did it,
And bore it patiently;
For a little fun you always had
When the sophs were on a spree.
All games played here you witnessed,
And witnssed as a fan;
You cheered our teams to vict’ry,
Then licked the conquered hand.
No game was played without you,
And none shall ever be,
For we know that in spirit
You’re still with “Twenty-Three.”
As our mascot, you traveled
To Austin, and returned;
And countless times, to Bryan,
The steel rails ’neath you burned.
Sad was the day when Prexy,
In mood so grim and stern,
• Gave out the dreadful mandate
That all stray dogs should burn.
We thought that you, poor doggie,
Were free to come and go;
But later we learned different,—
And now we miss you so!
No longer does your chubby form
Bring peace to a heavy heart;
No longer does your cheery bark
Make the blues from us depart.
You had too many masters,
You pet of “Twenty-Three,”
And not a one of us was there
To see when they took thee.
We’re told that you were murdered
In cold blood, by a “vet,”
But we haven’t got the evidence
That will convict him, yet.
So please forgive us, doggie.
And forgive Prexy, too.
We know he didn’t realize
That they would murder you.
Send down your spirit to us,
Since we can’t come to you,
For in this place of learning
We need you; yes, we do.
We loved you, little sharp-eyed wop,
We Fish of “Twenty-Three,”
And wish you, in dog heaven,
The greatest joy that be.
’23
THE SPIRIT OF A. AND M.
An iron pledge of national worth,
A rock of strength and vim;
Her honor bright
The state’s delight
Our dear old A. and M.
Her boys of other years can tell
What her glorious past has been
She crowned them all
within her halls
As kings, in the world of men.
A bugle summoned from her ranks
A manhood young and bright.
For a nation free
In their loyalty
They crossed the seas to fight.
They nobly lived, and nobly died
For God, for peace, and right.
Bless those who rest
On France’s breast—
Dead comrades of the fight.
Some fifty sons are resting there,
Where skies with smoke were dim;
As we close their seal.
We love to feel
They died for A. and M.
For each golden star is set,
A star no years can dim;
Whose glow of love
Dims those above
In the halls of A. and M.
The war is passed; the victory won
Our hearts with joy are light
The peaceful years
Redeem our tears
For those lost in the fight.
We turn our thoughts to future years
Forgotten is the strife
We must prepare
Before we dare
To trust ourselves in life.
The same old pep, the same old fire
Inspire her now as then;
A loyalty fine
And love divine
Still throngs her halls with men.
The lusty yell, the proud hurrah
Tell us the team has won.
For who would hide
The manly pride
Or joy of work well done?
Traditions in our history wrought
An Alamo dark and grim;
In the smoke was born,
On an April morn
The spirit of A. and M.
This spirit is our heritage
In it we work to win.
A single star
Shines forth afar—
Our beck’ning light to men.
DR. W. H. LAWRENCE %
t DENTIST %
•i* Residence Phone 658 . .
^ Office Phone 521 *!*
% 4th Floor City Nat’l Bank Building **
❖ BRYAN, TEXAS
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