Aquinas Institute - Arete Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

Page 33 text:

THE ARETE Cl)t Secret of tfje £ree I told the Wind upon the hill To guide my search. It led me up the hallowed rill To the Silver Birch. I heard the tree there whispering A secret old. It nodded to me, beckoning That I behold. The Dryad’s temple thralled me long With sighed refrain Of murmurous melody and song In leafy lane. At the sun-gilt shrine I poured my wine To the fairest flower. The Nymph that made this rapture mine In her woodland bower. Gerald F. Otto. $ 8 $ gforaljam Lincoln anb 3D The main difference between Abraham Lincoln and me is that Lincoln’s works are recognized as brilliant works and duly appreciated while mine for some reason or other are not appreciated. But then, there is some satisfaction for me because it’s a known fact that the works of a great man are never recognized as great until after his death. However, I don’t see why I have to wait so long. I suppose it’ll probably be fifty or seventy-five years before they declare: “Feb. 3, E. F. Lester’s birthday, a national holiday.” A few days ago we were told in class that Lincoln himself thought his Gettysburg address was a poor one and that the people didn’t appreciate it, while the fact was the people were really spellbound by his words and couldn’t applaud him. This encouraged me a lot as that same day I had a paper to hand in that I thought was very poor. On that same basis, my paper will be recognized as a masterpiece. And too, they must still be spellbound by my great work of literature as no one has yet lauded it. But in comparing Lincoln’s works with mine it is only fair to say that in view of the fact that Lincoln accomplished all the great things he did by means of an education obtained under the most arduous circumstances and without any of the advantages that I have had, his works are deserving of the more credit. A great many people won’t agree with me on this point and perhaps they are right, but anyway, even if he isn’t my equal, he certainly was a brilliant man. thirty-one Eugene Lester.

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THE ARETE £ruc Spirit The name “Aquinas Institute” represents to its student body more than merely a school. It represents a society of boys intimately associated and united under one common cause, that of obtaining a Catholic education. There exists among its students that mutual friendliness which has proved to be the mortar in the foundation of our success—scholastic, social, athletic. Aquinas accomplishes great things scholastically, but as a division of units it would be doomed to suffer the bitterness of unsuccessful attempts. That which is the common fault of the world today should never penetrate within our hearts. That selfishness and greed which is so prevalent among nations must never enter into our livees. Perhaps we have often meditated on the fact that if unity existed among all men, this world would be a happier planet on which to live. This subject is not merely one for thought, it should be practical not only now but in all the walks of life. Every importance of our school may be given as an example. How much easier would be the lives of teacher and pupil if the pupil would act in unity with his instructor. What has developed Aquinas during the past few years? What has given her basketball teams renown? What has enabled her to erect a new and beautiful housing for her students? The answer is contained in one word, “Cooperation.” Harold Slavin. thirty

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THE A li E T E ut ) 31s Htfc AN, after birth, is of few days and no teeth. Indeed, it would be money in his pocket sometimes if he had less of either. As for his days, he wasteth one-third of them, and as for his teeth he has convulsions when he cuts them, and as the last one comes through, lo, the dentist is twisting the first one out, and the last end of that man’s jaws is worse than the first, being full of porcelain and a roof-plate built to hold blackberry seeds. Stone bruises lie in his pathway to manhood; his father boxes his ears at home, the big boys cuff him in the playground, and the teacher whips him in the school-room. He buyeth Northwestern at 110 when he has sold short at 96, and his neighbor unloadeth upon him Iron Mountain at 63-V8 and it straightway breaketh down to 52Vi- He rises early and sitteth up late that he may fill his barns and storehouses and lo! his children’s lawyers divide the spoils among themselves and say, “Ha, ha!” He growleth and is sore distressed because it raineth, and he beateth upon his breast and sayeth, “My crop is lost!” because it raineth not. The late rains blight his wheat and the frost blighteth his peaches. If it be so that the sun shineth, even among the nineties he sayeth, “Woe is me, for I perish,” and if the northwest wind sigheth down at 42 below' he crieth, “Would I were dead!” If he wear sackcloth and blue jeans, men say, “He is a tramp” and if he goeth forth shaven and clad in purple and fine linen all the people cry, “Shoot the dude!” He carryeth insurance for 25 years until he has paid thrice over for all his goods and then he letteth his policy lapse one day, and that same night fire destroyeth his store. He buildeth him a house in Jersey, and his first born is devoured by mosquitoes; he pitcheth his tent in New' York, and tramps devour his substance. He moveth to Kansas and a cyclone carryeth his house over to Missouri, where a prairie fire and 10,000 acres of grasshoppers fight for his crop. He settleth himself in Kentucky and is shot the next day by a gentleman, a colonel and a statesman, “because, sah, he resembled sah, a man, sah. I did not like sail.” Verily, there is no rest for the sole of his feet, and if he had it to do over again he would not be born at all. L. Meier. 3u JDnnttmps The harbingers of spring are here, The robin and his song. The budding trees, the warming breeze That wafts us all along To woodlands fair and cloud-specked skies Where w'e dream the dreams of Pan, And watch the winged folk flying north Kncw'ing summer is in the van. C. L. Martin. thirty-two