St Josephs Academy - La Lumiere Yearbook (Prescott, AZ)

Page 8 text:

6 ACADEMY CHIMES. f- to those who forsake all for Christ. She exercises her rare abilities in the noble work of education—happy privilege ! wherein her life resembles that of our Lord, the gentle Teacher of Israel who wrent about doing, good. Her true and loving character and cheerful generosity of soul is manifested in a life of devotedness to the little ones” who are the special objects of her love and solicitude, for our Lord has said “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” Adele Hubbell, '00. THE TWO VEILS. XO ! my Guardian Angel Brought two veils to me ; One was bright and dazzling, ’Broidered gorgeously. Thick and dark the other, Strange the contrast seemed, Yet upon the dark veil Bright the sun’s rays beamed. Then my Guardian Angel Spoke in accents mild : “ Both of these are holy, See them now, dear child ! This one, bright and dazzling, To an earthly bride is given ; This unto the lowly, Chastened spouse of Heaven.’’ Then I fell in reverie, Low I bent my head, And unto our Savior, Tremblingly I said : “ Lord, Thou alone knowest What is best for me, When Thy loved Voice biddeth I will come to Thee. But oh, if Thou wouldst have me To be more closely Thine, Then Jesus, dearest Jesus, Be the dark veil mine !” THM few weeks after our return to school, early in the month of I September, the telegraphic wires J I conveyed to our pine clad and quiet mountain home the sad news of the death of our beloved and distinguished friend, the Rev. Eugene O’Growney. No little regret was ex- pressed by the pupils of St. Joseph’s for most of us remember the mild gentleman whose kind countenance we loved to watch in his daily strolls about the convent grounds during his months of residence amongst us. So distin- guished a character and so brilliant a man cannot be passed over lightly, or dealt with sparingly, and, though the daily papers have bestowed unmeasured praise on his literary productions, all of which exhibit warmth of soul and earn- estness of purpose, the writer with an appreciation of his merits and a realiz- ing sense of what is due to his memory, with on equal consciousness of her own inability to do justice to the subject, asks the indulgence of those who may

Page 7 text:

ACADEMY CHIMES. 5 richly-carpeted floors. In everything there was harmony of color and beauty of design. Jeanette’s boudoir was a very bower of loveliness, as her devoted father looked upon her as a precious jewel that should have the most ex- quisite setting. She was not insensible to all these attentions, and loved her indulgent parent with a new and grow- ing love when she saw how eager he was to contribute to her happiness. The next day brought gay young companions who were at once charmed with the beautiful face and artless man- ners of the convent girl, and ’ere long the young debutante was fairly launched into the sea of fashionable society. Time’s soft and silent footsteps passed on. True to the teachings of her loved Alma Mater, Jeanette had made the world a better place for having lived in it. It was she who welcomed her father to the breakfast-table each morning ; her hands warmed his slippers in winter and made his office bright with flowers in summer. Her voice led in the even- ing prayers, to which her father and brother devoutly responded. One evening, about a year after Jean- ette’s coming home, a cheerful fire was burning in the crimson-curtained library at the Martin mansion. The snow had fallen since dawn and now lay in glit- tering heaps beneath the dancing moon- light. Jeanette, arrayed in glistening white, looking faultless as any creation of genius, was standing beside her father’s great arm-chair, smoothing his silver locks and now and then pressing a kiss on his forehead with her wonted affec- tion. “And has this really been the happi- est winter of your life, dear papa ?” “ Yes : I shall always call it my ‘ sunny winter,’ Bonnie Jean. But what were you thinking of just then when you wore that bright smile ?” Papa, to-night Jack returns from his bridal tour, bringing you a gentle, fair- haired daughter to grace your home and be your comfort. Dear papa, you know my request a year ago ; we have never since spoken of it. My love for you is strong, else I could not have taken part in all these gayeties but to evince my gratitude. I long for the solitude of that dear old home wherein my heart lies buried and where my Heavenly Spouse awaits me. “Jeanette, my sunbeam ! No earthly spouse is worthy of you. My child, go, and may God bless you !” Kneeling, the girl breathed an act of thanksgiving. Heaven had granted her long-offered prayer. The merry jingle of sleigh-bells and joyous peals of laughter ring out upon the frosty air, and Mr. Martin and Jeanette spring to the door to bid a glad welcome to Mr. John Martin, Jr., and his fair young bride, Agnes St. Clair. =K Two years have passed. The convent chapel is like a vision of heaven. The lights are kindled, the fragrant clouds of incense rise, the soft, sweet voices of the nuns and the deep tones of the or- gan are blended in exquisite harmony. “All speaks of a joy too pure for earth, Of a joy that claims a heavenly birth.” At the altar railing kneels a girlish form whom we recognize as Jeanette Martin. Within the chancel sits the venerable bishop. The sacred vows are pronounced and Sister Marie Celeste rises from the predieu, a calm in her fea- tures and a spiritual look in her eyes that gives an inexpressible sweetness to her countenance. Earth’s fleeting charms are hers no more ; she has cast under foot all the glories of this passing life and is now dead to the world that so recently smiled upon her. The glo- rious Te Deum peals forth and “ Heaven has from this calm retreat Received a sacrifice complete.” Sister Marie Celeste passes her days in the enjoyment of that blissful peace which the world cannot give, and which is the part of the hundred fold promised

Page 9 text:

ACADEMY CHIMES. 7 chance to read this imperfect tribute of love and gratitude to our highly gifted and lamented friend and father. Rev. Eugene O’Growney was born in Ireland in 1862, and early in life de- voted himself to acquiring the neces- sary education to fit him for entering upon the still higher and more extended duties required for the exalted vocation to which he aspired. After his ordina- tion he became deeply interested in the movement for the preservation and the extention of the Irish language. He devoted his life to a careful study of it and his efforts were crowned with the laurel wreath of fame, and distinction that entitles him to recognition as “one of the best masters of the Irish lang- uage.” His scholarly abilities were brought more prominently to the front after having succeeded the late John Fleming as editor of the Gaelic Journal His distinguished and remarkable work as professor of Irish at Maynooth Col- lege is a matter well worthy of record in history and his efforts at Maynooth are certainly entitled to more than a passing notice, since the task he started has outlived him. He always spoke most enthusiastically of any movement toward the advancement of the Gaelic race. His last literary work on record was the metrical translation of Amer- ica’s national air, “The Star Spangled Banner,” into Irish During his sojourn in Arizona he made many friends who mourn his loss and admire his virtues. His patience, while laboring under the grim monster Consumption, and his resignation to the inevitable, proved him to be not unlike Him who endured the thrust of spears and the crown of thorns. He was a friend to all and a consolation to those in bereavement, and a generous minis- ter to those in distress. His gentle manners, his words of kindness, and benevolence, his fatherly advice and wise counsel joined to his Christ-like meekness and devotion, will linger in the tender memories of those who knew him long after his unfinished work shall have been completed, moulded and fallen to decay. The merit of his life work is now the measure of his reward as he had in view only God’s honor and glory and the good of his fellow-men. Though he had been ailing for years yet his wonderful energy of mind and constant cheerfulness made it appear to many that the Angel of Death would yet delay some time before delivering the final message. He did not fear the end. Why should he ? Death has no terror for the truly Christian soul. It is not the end but the beginning of life. He saw beyond the grave the glorious sunshine of God’s presence. The final moment at last came and, and as the setting sun on a calm September eve sinks beneath the horizon, gilding the heavens with its mild yet glorious splendor, so did the soul of Father O’Growney pass to his God, leaving behind him the bright light of genius and virtues. How much could be said and said truly, were my pen and lips eloquent enough to proclaim his praise ! Love for God’s poor was a marked trait in his character. His generous nature and warm heart were ever moved by kind impulses and influenced by chari- table feelings as became his priestly calling. He was esteemed during life by numerous persons of all classes and denominations for his sympathies were as broad as humanity. May his soul rest in peace ! His remains lie in the cemetery in the “City of Angels” and though it is not given us to strew flowers on his grave yet we can give him love’s purest and best offering — a fervent de profundis for the happy repose of his soul. Priest of God, sweetly sleeping, May thy sainted spirit rise Up above, and in God’s keeping, Dwell e’ermore in Paradise. Anna Burke, ’02.