Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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SEMINARIA IQ43 That Fnnlish Prayer PRIZE POEM I used to say a prayer at night, I used to think perhaps it might Be some help, when I went astray, To light the way. And then l grew and knew such things As only highest wisdom hringsg I saw pure light-why stop to pray?+- Since there was day. But all the while I stumbled on There was no light-only a moon Of shifting shadows, silverfgray: I lost the way. MARGARET NICHOLS, '44

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SEMINARIA 1943 21 Something to give this room warmth and color. A room, like people, must have roots and background, answered the interior decorator. Of course, Mrs. Lorey, he said a little apologetically, This touch may be a little expensive, but leave it to me. You'll find it well worth the money. Mrs. Lorey acquiesced, and the decorator left in triumph! The next day Mrs. Lorey went shopping with Mrs. Connor, and there was surf rise and pleasure in her voice when Mrs. Connor said that she heard the Loreys had redecorated their house and she would love to see it. Mrs. Lorey had a feeling of pride as they went up the brick walk, but when she opened the front door she heard a sniff and felt a cold stare. Yes, there in their accustomed places were Aunt Eliza and Uncle Egbert. Mrs. Lorey rapped her pencil against the paper, brought her thoughts to the present, and raised her eyes to Aunt Eliza over the mantel. In spite of the sniff it was a kindly face, and she thought very differently of the prim black dress and the cameo than she had thirty years ago. Why now she even liked the Way Uncle E bert stared! She carefully copied the address that the Ladies' Page7' had given Wien she thought she heard again a sniff. In a relationship that, she found, goes deeper than words, Mrs. Lorey understood that Aunt Eliza would not approve of selling family stories for money. Aunt Eliza would not think it 6ttin'. All right, Auntie, said Mrs. Lorey as she tore the envelope into tiny pieces. You and I both know that in years of comfort, companionship, and tranquillity I've had my bonus for my 'boner'. FRANCES SAPERSTON, '45 0 PHILOSOPHY There is a quiet beauty in a sigh. There is a diamond brilliance in a tear. And there is beauty in the passing of a life, As beauty in the dying of the year. I see a depth of passion in my faith, To melt the cold and cruel ice of care- A crown of rubies, hot and red as blood, Set with the costly jewels of despair. BARBARA Goom-run, '43

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SEMINARIA 1943 23 Blilhe Spirit PRIZE ESSAY She has that odd elfin way ahout her that helongs only to a fourfyear old. l Wheii she walks, she has a huoyant step, which is characteristic of her in- dividual charm and personality. Alf though she is little, she packs unhoundf ing energy into her diminutive size. Her eyes, which are a dark hazel, twinkle almost constantly, except when they are clouded occasionally hy large, salty tears. She has a lilting and infectious laugh which is typical of her happiness, and an ingratiating smile that warms even the coldest heart. 5.1.6. She is as complex and haflling as a lahyrinth. One moment she is sitting quietly looking at slWil1l1lC the Pooh, and the next moment she is out of doors, riding her pride and joy, an undersize tvvofwheeler hicycle. She ahhors peas and turnips and delights in green grapes and purple gumdrops. As she goes ahout her playing, she sings Deep in the Heart of Texas, and the Star Spangled Banner. When she goes for her daily walk, she counts service flags. It is her aspiration to stay up until Daddy goes to hed. At strange hours she frequents the kitchen for what she terms peanutfhutter sands, which consist of a piece of hread smothered on hoth sides with peanut hutter. Although Santa Claus has hrought her a myriad of dolls, she loves devotedly a rag doll of uncertain vintage that wears only a white cotton shirt. Each morning she is up at the crack of dawn. She hurries into Mother's and Daddy's room sing' ing Good lvlorning to Youl' at the top of her lungs, and if this fails to waken them, she goes hack to hed and picks out the letters of the alphahct she knows in her hooks. Her favorite pastime, however, is cutting ladies, her name in huge letters, and pictures of Hitler out of scraps of paper, freehand. In the afternoon she goes to kindergarten, and from the time she comes home until she goes to hed, she talks incessantly ahout her activities there. Do not for a moment think that her actions leave nothing to he desired. On the contrary, like everyone, she has her foihles. She is particularly fond of visiting the neighhors. and staying for dinner, and she cries lustily ifanyone tries to comh her soft hrown hair. Light hlue sailor dresses seem hest to suit her round face and pointed chin. Her small, retrousse nose, with its delicate sprinkling of freckles, has a way of hurrowf ing into your shoulder when she gives you a hug. She is as suhtle as a summer hreezc, and just as welcome. One day this summer,