The Seniors of 1917 ~ Grove High School ~ Faculty

When we at dinner all sit down,
We just begin to look around—
Then try to eat.
No matter what is passed to us,
We must partake, or, in disgus'
Refuse the treat.
Rut now the table is w^ell spread,
With all things nice, from foot to
head,
In human meat.

Our meal is served upon a plate
A new kind, sir. a model late—
Of Gist's imported china,
Designed with patience and with care
And bordered with a judgment rare—
And it is strong and smooth and fine,
A pleasing dish on which to dine :
It brings you food for heart and mind,
The best that you can ever find.

I? Some? Why, yes, to be sure.
I'm truly glad you made that stewer
Of McCoy broth.
To some 'tis thin, but to all, 'tis good—
I'd take less pepper if I could.
You'll find it wholesome as well as hot,
And smiles and jokes make it worth a
lot;
Some reason, pity, and much fun,
Make us declare the broth well done.
We then, are served with a course of
meat,
Baked fish and roast, but the best, a
treat,
Of Cunning—ham.
This dish is seasoned with perfect
taste.
You dare not let one bit go to waste—
This ham is sweet and you don't mind,
For no better meat you'll ever find;
It's salted and peppered, and baked
just right,
And sliced and garnished to please the
sight.

The next rare course which is served
our plate,
Is a vegetable grown here, somewhat
late,
Tis Clements asparagus;
And tho it doesn't quite please your
sight,
I am sure you will find it to be just
right;
For it's flavored the highest with hu-
mor and wit,
And you barely can taste the temper
in it.

The gravy with this is just simply fine,
For, 'tis made from the best of human
kind.
This being eaten with relish and ease,
I'll take a dish, sir, if you please,
Of hard boiled eggs, the Trevathan
kind,
A more healthful dish you'll never
find,
It feeds the body as well as the mind.
I know they're hard, I know they're
high,
But take your share as they pass you
by.
For if you want patience, nerve, and
love,
Be sure to try what's given above.

Then comes the firiest dish of all,
Yet liked by each in spring and fall,
For Judd 'tis named.
It makes us sit and try to find
What red-hot stuff of any kind
Could bring those tears to every eye-
When mention's made, at all, of "pi"
This is a dish of pickled pepper—
Seasoned with brain, and wit and tem-
per.

Along with pickles we are glad
To get a dish \ve've not yet had—
A salad of Miss Matthews' make—
Composed of gayety and fun,
But not of play till work is done.
A deal of reserve and self-control—
And thought of others makes a per-
fect whole ;
And this is served on a dish of pride
And set at the right of each guest's
side.

And now, we're served with quite a
slice
Of the dessert—we think 'tis nice.
Its lemon pie, by Miss Newell,
Delicious, tempting—when just done
And baked in literary fun.
Rich with learning and much heat,
And with meringue of light conceit,
Slightly browned with self-reserve,
But the best dish that you can serve.

But I'm not through as you suppose,
For I'll a toothpick ere I close—
A Zimmerman.
Made out of stout enthusiasm,
And shaped by sharpest criticism ;
But smoothed with truest interest
To remove with patience, the tenderest,
Each and all our many wrongs
Until we join life's passing throng.