Fordham University - Maroon Yearbook (New York, NY)

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I I Claes Ibtetor

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Wije (gift The stone that once the fallen gods held high Against their fall, that let the laughter clang On their lips, when men leaped for it and failed. Truth thy gift is to us, rigid truth. This holding, we can smiling, sec the learned Wander in the snarled streets of old towns; Be not confounded by the gabble at New prophets, for we know that let there be New metaphors hung on a string, a tale With twisted end or moral written, and The world is sounding with an equal buzz, As once was Uz, from flies that nozed round Job. Gilding goes like ice under the salt. The rich with bellies full of fat, who made Men into wheels and cogs, they gathered cockle Into their barns, and bound the wheat to burn. Kings who cast down kings, and scared the face Of nations, hurled from the pinnacle at last. The fort of people wore away the words Upon their grave-slabs, robbers stole their robes, They are a sudden blast which whirled the leaves. Purple and ermine, towers, ivory thrones. Great cities, argosies and conquered fields, The years of countless men, only a page. As, when a gust tumbles a smoky spire. The lover secs a maiden’s raven hair, The old, the dark gray cowl of coming death, The thief, non-shackles, the merchant, money lost. But few the fire round which that darkness flies, So each counts the image of his thought the truth. Or as, when rode the tetrarch to the inn, The nobles bowed obsequious to their lord, Their servants in the courtyard to his train, And put a childing woman from the door, Pools make their gods. You taught us that the Wise Followed a star, found in a stable, light.

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LEO JOSEPH O BRIEN B. S. Fordism Prep. Debating Society (I. 2, 3); Crew (I, 4): Track (I. 2); Class Football (3). Oh. ffodt. Ilfndf «■ » ©» lx • of thin nobtr n-if'e. Shaktsptorr . uliuit Ctusat. HAVE you ever, being on Canal or Orchard or Baxter Street, and looking in the window of a clothing store had a big red-headed Jew seize you by the collar and try to drag you into his store, that having hypnotized you by his talk, he might induct you into one of his nobby suits? You haven't? Or nothing like it? Then you never passed Times Square in civilian clothes during the late war. For if you had. you would have suffered this same fate at the hands of our Mr. O'Brien, former sergeant of the Marines. It shows the quality of him that in that band of fighters where many college men were proud to rank as corporals, he was advanced to the grade of sergeant in three months. It was as a gyrene, we imagine, that his abilities showed their first real blooming. He went away genial, but not an over-poweringly dominant force: he came back bronzed and straight as a sapling. and with a convincing, rapid-fire line of talk that astounds one. to take a leading place in the activities of the class. They say that the trim figure and the gray Irish eye of him set one little heart a-fluttering, and the affair is quite serious. We speak only from hearsay, but it is a report that might naturally start about him and might, quite as naturally be true. For this we know: that as he leaves Fordham. there is no one who is not his dear friend. I