And now we are in our Junior year, the last but one of our allotted number! The halting pen of man fails ignominiously in trying to set down the wonderful events in the past few months of our lives. Let jovial Bacchus sing the unending round of pleasures; let Venus boast in glowing terms the antics of the Little Blind God; let Thespis relate our assiduous attendance at his sumptuous feasts; and may Olympian Jove avert the just wrath of Minerva if we have at times neglected her shrine.
From you dear Seniors we receive in reverential awe the sacred trust of your high calling.   You, like everything else, must
go, and we will miss you. Bestow upon us your blessing and take with you our heartiest wishes for every possible success. But before you go we would fain have you join us in one more feast of the gods. Let us for one brief night dispel the gloom of your departure in the sparkling train of Terpsichore and drown dull sorrow in the flowing bowl. So
Here's to the Junior Prom,
And you, dear girls and boys;
And here's to thee old Father Time:
Bring on the corduroys.
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