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...details of the disaster are not known, nor is the precise cause of it. We do not know whether or not the hand of an enemy had anything to do with it. But it is evident that the loss is terrific; that thousands must suffer as well as mourn; and that the chief sally-port of the new world's war against the Central Empires of the old world has been virtually destroyed. And whether or not they had any hand in this calamity, how fiercely our enemies will rejoice at the sorrow and destruction that have befallen...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: Halifax. | 12/8/1917 | See Source »

...stern trials and the heroic sacrifices demanded by the great game of war is vividly brought home. Ronald Hoskier of the Junior class is the first Harvard undergraduate to make the final and glorious sacrifice for the cause of humanity and democracy. The many acquaintances of Hoskier sincerely mourn the loss of a friend whose exceptional qualities were recognized and admired by all who came in contact with him. He met his death bravely in action, and has brought highest honor to his family and college. May his brothers in arms see in his sacrifice the best example of service...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE FINAL SACRIFICE. | 4/26/1917 | See Source »

...weep their sorrow or do they mourn my grief...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: Current Monthly Poetry Number | 2/1/1917 | See Source »

...When one of us dies," again says Professor Palmer, "his colleagues mourn, not for the public loss alone, but for their own much more, each sharing with each such bits of remembrance as illustrate the beauty and excellence of the absent friend. In the family journal of Harvard I would record in this fragmentary and intimate way the affection which 34 years have bred in me for Josiah Royce...

Author: By A. L. S. ., | Title: Tribute Paid Professor Royce in Current Graduates Magazine | 1/3/1917 | See Source »

...deep and lucid mind we mourn, An eye that on the sun of truth had gazed, Nor ever turned away like others dazed-- A soul that travelled over paths unworn, And searched the hidden deeps and knew no bourne, A soul that yet its glance in wonder raised, Like children at a miracle amazed, And plucked white flowers out of weed and thorn. We mourn, yet know that in a rarer clime He dwells with sages and with seraphim Free from the fetters and the weight of clay And from the passions of a gloomy time-- And we shall never...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: COMMENT | 10/6/1916 | See Source »

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