Lincoln High School - Quill Yearbook (Jersey City, NJ)

Page 107 text:

Autumn Little fairies in gold And red dresses Break away from arms Which, As they float slowly to earth, Clutch at them With the last despairing gesture of motherhood. But the leaves evade the mother grasp And settle on the dry Hard ground- Where a few flowers still dance, Bravely, at the command of the wind- Where the fire of the pumpkins Relieves the calm brown Of the corn husks- And the birch is a silver line Against the brooding purple of the hill. Marjorie Harris. CSSQIS Ten Commandments For Students Remember the week-endg to do all thy homework. Five days shalt thou fool around and have all thy fun: But the sixth and seventh days are the days of the Alma Mater, Lincoln High School, on these days shalt thou do all thy home work, thou, they classmates, thy sisters, thy brothers Qand even thy parentsj. Honor thy teacher: That thy marks may be better on thy report card, which the marker, thy teacher, giveth thee. Thou shalt not kill time. Thou shalt attend all of thy school's dances and activities, and if on the next day, thou be too tired to attend thy beloved school, thou canst remain at home. Thou shalt not steal thy answers in a test from thy neighbor's paperg for thy teacher's eagle-eye might spy thee. Thou shalt love thy classmates, especially the honor students, so that thy homework canst be attained without any trouble. Thou shalt not talk ill of thy dear teacherg for they love thee with all their heart. Thou shalt not chew gum in thy classesg unless thou canst offer thy classmates and thy teacher a piece. Cora Gardiner 105

Page 106 text:

All The World's A Stage Shall we be poor players who strut their hour upon the stage and then are heard no more? The pit of childhood is darkened, a murmur of anticipation and wonder is heard as I step upon the platform of Lincoln High School-to soliloquize. The play is on! I am to be judged solely on my merits! Shall I be a success? True, there hasn't been any previous advertising, there hasn't been the flourish of trumpets-and yet, the little group of my own family sits with wide expectant eyesg for to them I am the star, the featured player in the spotlight of their expectations and hopes. Yet, what are my lines in this extemporaneous play of life and study? I cannot wait for the cues of my fellow players! I cannot put my faith in the hushed tones of a hidden prompter. No, the show is on and I am alone with my talents. With all the confidence of youth I begin to utter succ--'- I meant to say success -but the word does not articulate because of the stage properties, studios, tests, which clutter up the platform. The word is too presumptious for an opening. And so I timidly crush the last syllable and look to the critics, my teachers, for some nod of satisfaction or grimace of disappointment. Veterans of this same play coach me from scene to scene, inspire me with the spirit of ambition and love of work, hold out to me the thrill of many curtain calls if I but prove myself. The plot goes on through the scenes of freshman, sophomore and junior years, and rapidly approaches the climax of the senior year. The orchestra pit is beginning to seethe with the movement of the prepared recessional. I stand aghast with excitement and hope. The footlights of my ratings shimmer before me. In one short moment I shall know whether I have proved myself an illustrious Bernhardt or a poor jester with bells and footstaff. Content I shall be, however, if the wold can pay me the one soothing compliment of She has done her best. She is well castf' A Poor Player. CXQQZB Those Senior Jingles To sit and study night and day Is much against my will, I'll have to find another way And pass in every subject still. Then maybe in my senior term The editors of The Quill, Not knowing me, will make me squirm By calling me our studious Billf' Put et al. 104

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412111, rp-MJD '9 ffffff' ,,,.ni ., 11 for U., I 51' 1 f 7 1 I' 1 Y. revenues ,wwf-vw' 12 1 1 If 1 f,!i5f 2,ff.7 ,i.:,:,1-I , ff , , ' 'ff' 1 1, 0' 1 4 Unhappy are the wise, even in the paradise created by their wisdomg while happy are the ignorant in their hopelessness. Despondency can seize a man until he longs for death and seeks in it a cure for all his troubles. So xaifb al-Muhmabbi. A POET Far from the stir and bustle of the camp, Where desert riders borne on thund'ring steeds Alight in joy to tell of valiant deeds, Of booty won and castle walls destroyed, The poet of the tribe of Beni-Sakr Upon some noble theme did meditate. From out the camp the tribesmen bold had poured To Batra's mighty walls and palace gatesg For Batra's ruler rash had dared attack This Bedouin tribe that widely overroamed Arabian wastes of barren patched sands- The tribe of Beni-Sakr, none greater be. Thus by this deed of insolence inflamed, Upon the battlements made they assault And unopposed in triumph entry made. The foolish king they with no harm inflict, But through resplendent chambers make their way. All that with favor strikes the eye they seize: Bright carpets picked with red and gold and blueg Rich tapestries of glowing saffron hue That to the cold gray walls adornment gaveg And priceless carved chests of teak that came From far-off forests in Malayan islesg Mosaics of ivory white and shining gold And iridescent shells and colored stonesg True blades and sabers of Damascus steel In precious gem-encrusted scabbards sheathed. The stables of the king they raid and find Pure-blooded stallions and a camel herd. 106