the ways of God in nature, science, and philosophy, and in letters
and in art.

It is the primary work of a university to make men humble. The Freshman
is not teachable. The Sophomore is an intellectual upstart. But by the
time a man has been beaten and conquered by the great ideals of the
world, which have pierced his bones and humbled his conceit--by the time
the race-passions and the race-sorrows have crept across his spirit, by
the time that he has been confronted with the achievements of Homer,
Empedocles, Hippocrates, Michelangelo, Socrates, Buddha, Plato, Emerson,
Gladstone, Bismarck, Lincoln, and Carlyle--his self-exaltation drops
from him like a garment. He--who knows how to construe a few pages of
the classics, who knows how to demonstrate a few mathematical problems,
scan a few verses, recite a few odes, carry on a few scientific
experiments, undertake a small research--how shall he compete with these
rulers of the thought of men?

Then it is that the real rule of a university--its spirit of humility,
and of reverence for antiquity--begins. The true university man, born
and bred in the century, not in the years, in the race halls, not those
alone in his Alma Mater, is neither a scoffer nor an atheist, nor a
critic, sceptic, or cynic. He is a man of simple and exalted faith. God,
who hath brought such great things to pass in science, nature, and art,
in human character, in the destiny of nations, and the history of humble
men and women, is a God before whom there must be awe and reverence, and
not a flippant scouting of the ancient ideals. Man, who is so tried by
temptation and scourging of the spirit, is a creature to be loved,
appreciated, understood; not a being to whom shall be shown arrogance,
aloofness, and pride. The university that makes snobs of its graduates
has not yet entered into its kingdom of control.