Central Commercial High School - Hour Glass Yearbook (New York, NY)

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The Lost Village The snow-capped mountains in all their glory, Rose above the village That now told the story of war, the plague of man. The hem locks and pines in ancient Forest were no more, Because of war. Old and young ne'er to be seen Homes, animals that once knew life Are here no more. The beautiful village, an ugly ghost town, Left a victim of war. Sheila Friedman This World of urs Are you satisfied with this world of ours? The world in which you grew up and in which you will grow old. The world that our fathers before us built and tried to improve, the world that holds much poverty, many prej- udices, too much hate, and not enough kindness. Conditions in the world of today are not your fault, but the condition of the world of tomorrow will be entirely up to you. You are the youth, the future generation. You will be the leaders, the followers, the pioneers of tomorrow. All your lives you have been educated, both in and out of school. You know right from wrong, good from bad, weak from strong. You know things that will put you on top in your trade. Your knowledge is vast. Do not let it go to waste. Use it to help build a world that you can be proud to leave to posterity. Florence Bain 26

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'The Field in the Sunset I'm looking at a sunset. It's one of those glorious sights we get treated to now and then by Mother Nature. This is a sunset with heavy black clouds, with a brilliant crimson filtered through. It reminds me of a field, and the black soil of this field is plowed with blood. Perhaps the farmer is humanity. His job is to plow this bloody battle- ground to a place to grow peace. Xvhat if a farmer could grow crops for peace? What crops would he have to grow? The fruit of knowledge that teaches people that force is not the instrument of democracy. But then, of course, all must eat of the vital herb that will give men an unerring con- viction that it is only through democratic means that men will lind their happiness. There must bein this garden a vegetable that will cause each man to hate mass murder, and to love all men, and regard their misfortunes as his own, because he is a fellow human. But the roots, in order to grow to a plant of health and beauty, must be truth and justice. These roots will go deep into the moist soil, soil moist with the blood of soldiers who were commonplace men, perhaps some unknown geniuses, who fought, not so much for ideals but for self preservation. To these men who wanted food, shelter, friends, and families, with the assurance that their families could enjoy the same in their life time, this garden of peace shall be dedicated. Mildred Heller What Freedom to M e Freedom is a liVIN'1'ER'S glow, VVhite and clear, like the snow. Freedom is the SPRINGS starlight, Glowing with the gleam of right. Freedom is the SUMMERYS' sim, Shining life lo everyone. F reedom. is an A U TUJWN 'S breeze, Blowing lrullz llzrouglz centuries. Barlmrrz Eslell Curtis 27