| Description |
Dropping notes from everywhere. Promises blossomed like ripened fruit. His band played on to beat the boot. Carlyle E. Hunk never left his shell, Yet his knowledge reflected well. Never seemed to sweat or brood Out knew the n ovs of his oysterhood. And lest we forget our Library mood And Clare Farnsworth' s solitude, Without her supervising thought, How could learning ere be wrought? Folks like Clara were the salt of the City Meeting any upstream without self-pity. Others have come and others have gone. With matched and measured line, Pages and pages of many we love All have added a garland treasure And filled our birthright to its fullest More than self-made lives who aim for the sky. Gold and yellow farms that lie Around the town and seem to cry: "Behold the Valley in the Sun--And bow your head when day is done. " The seeds of one' s soul, A life's plan, a life's goal, Take root when you' re young, so young. Maybe that's why the folks of Manti Are so fine and so level and true, So wonderfully knit And the years nor the miles can divide That spiriL of love, of concern or the pride That we share for our heritage rare. 72 |
