by Jay O'Toole
This poem was by my father, Carl Haselton, Jr., in the late 1950s. He loved his profs.
|The Old Professor had a tear in his eye.
The Old Professor lived over his life in a sigh.
The Old Professor has a home of his own.
The Old Professor made of his desk a throne.
There are many many men he has taught,
Many young men with whom he wrought.
He unfolded the Truths of our God's Book.
This world's riches he long ago forsook.
Oh! What wealth he has laid up Above,
The Diamonds of Faith, and the Gold of Love,
The Pearls of Hope, and the Silver of Grace!
The Rubies of Courage will light up his face!
Yes, the Old Professor has wealth untold,
The students he taught, see their lives unfold.
A part of himself, they are more precious than gold.
This kind of treasure can neither be bought, nor sold!
The Old Professor gave us more than we know.
The Old Professor taught us how we should grow.
The Old Professor is a sculptor of men.
The Old Professor! His influence will not end!
by Carl Haselton, Jr.
around the late 1950s