Abington High School - Oracle Yearbook (Abington, PA)

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the tiny stove and partake of the humble food, they smile once more, and as they smile, the shadow seems to lift from the entire towng once again friend greets friend and the warm, glorious carols ring out across the now moonlit snow. The fes- tive trees, drooping before under the fore- boding silence, stretch their scented green- ness toward the very roofs of the city. The people throw off their lethargy to re- plenish the yuletide fires, which have sunk 14644314716-4-6040! A silvery carol rings On the wy air of night, Perhaps an angel sings A song of his delight. A. willing song of gladness Melodiously swells, Annihilating sadfness In hearts where sorrow dwells. The music on the frosty air Awakes the qwiet morn, And joyous carols everywhere Proelaim that Christ is born. BARBARA FLOWER, '51 THELMA KALEN, '51 N WIC...- N1 ill to hardly glowing embers. I But though the homes are once more bright and cheerful, and the spirit of glad- ness once more reigns supreme-one and then another of the people shudders as though feeling some deathly, far-off chill. They will a long time remember when the shadows of their own greed and self-satis faction almost smothered the fires of Christmas. CAROLYN CLARK, '51 rqcloaanuu '7a, ehaidc Three wise men of old followed a star- And found a King. They knelt and adored Himg Gold, franhincense, and myrrh Were their offering. H e was an infant, But they saw His divinity 5 The stable was rough and unclean, But they saw His beauty. Mary bore- Him to the world That crucified Him. The heavens proclaimed His holy birth While J oseph, a humble man, Poured music from his heart. Christ the King was born. NANCY KERR, '51 M p . , , i y F 0 Q fp -V iq X . b 1, y FA E Vi ayl' Q V. j l mmf! -A

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If this is your town and your home, Can It Happen Again. nh' i 5 N3 Q The snow swirls gently to the ground as the small grey donkey picks its way along the paved walk. The man and woman accompanying it seem picturesque and quaint in contrast with the tall buildings and bridges of an industrial city. Here and there a late shopper, hurrying home to his warm, well-lighted home, casts an inquiring glance toward the three snow- sprinkled figures. Often, along the way, the tired pilgrim makes his way to a house and knocks on the door to beg shelter for his wife and beast. But unfortunately man has not changed in the past two thousand years, and the travelers are turned away- still lonely, still quiet. Within the houses, the people are like- wise quiet and seem to have lost their fes- tive spirit. They turn to look at one anoth- er, seeking to rectify what they have done. They seem to have lost all interest in the trees decked with gaudy trimmings and bowed to the floor with a load of gifts. Tt is almost as though they have forgotten why they are gathered. No one begins an old carol to be joined by others as has been the custom for many years. And out in the dark night the trio moves quietly, almost ominously, on through the dim streets. Far down in the crowded nar- row alleys, where homes which can afford no children are crowded with shabby, piti- ful children--so easily pleased by some meager present, the three halt and are ap- proached by two of these l1!lf0I'tllIl8,t6S. The boy, sunken of cheek, thin of frame, clutches his sister 's bony hand, and both peer inquisitively into the faces of the two strangers. Seeing that they shiver from the cold and their faces are drawn and tired, the children draw the strangers into a wretched tenement, whose creaky steps seem to ereak a little less under the stran- gers' footsteps than under those accus- tomed to tread there. Even the burro stands quietly content inside the door while the children rub the snow and water out of his soft coat and feed him bread crust from their meager store. As the strangers warm themselves by V .pl I 'S A LORRAINE BATES, '51 .Z

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.fam sv2.m,,1aam .1 1'4 Pray that you never feel the terror of PURSUIT The crystalline snow sifted down to the forest below. It covered familiar spots with sheets of white, lying thick under the stark branches of the leafless trees, jumping up wherever there was even a hint of a spot where a drift might be formed. It burden- ed the pines with heavy loads, which oc- casionally fell to the floor underneath. All that night and the next day it snowed. On the evening of the second day the storm ceased. The pale moon which rose that night seemed cold and remote to a com- pletely changed world. A black spot, contrasting sharply with the alabaster mound at the base of the hemlock, quivered as a snowshoe rabbit tested the wind. Suddenly his Whole body tensed, for the wind which swept his back trail carried the taint of a weasel. The rab- bit choked back a feeling of panic, he knew as surely as he lived that even now a killer was stalking him. With a convulsive Spring he shook off the snow and leaped away. He' jumped high every now and then to look back but was soon lost to sight among the blackpillars of trees. Presently an elusive shadow slipped after him. After a few hundred yards the hare stopped to test the wind again. Still came the dreaded killer's scent, stronger now and more terrifying. He spurted on, side- jumping and back-tracking frantically. Farther back, the weasel still hung grim- ly to the spoor of his prey, his lithe whip- cord body undulating as he followed. His beady eyes were shot with blood and lust and excitement of the kill. The rabbit was tiring rapidly now, and the weasel began to gain. The rabbit glanced behind, and, seeing the slinking form coming faster, made a last hysterical effort to escape, but to no avail. Swiftly forward bounded his pursuer. As the vicious looking, diamond- shaped head darted in with a lightning feint to avoid the lunging back-teeth of the rodent, the merciful snow hushed a death scream while the weasel's teeth met in the throat of his victim. About a hundred feet distant the top of a tall stump took wings and glided silently toward the strangled sound. Great yellow eyes distinguished a sinuous animal tear- ing at a still form lying in the snow. Soft feathers gave no warning when the eagle dropped. Hunting was good that night. RICHARD WEPPNER, '52 L? THELMA KALEN, '51