College of St Marys of the Springs - Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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KWIQL g l4l!l wuz I wuz li m r swag wma I W ' f' ' lx 1, W N :J KVM 'WVIJ 'lvl' , N pr. . 'KVI' f N lv , N VJ iff? , frK-5MQi,fri:b'+?4lrfsi:-E+?-ilffrivfi5'+1ii,fris59+'f4'frx. ?f+'s1sfri45!3.i,frx45d.fsi,frirl Life is glowing in its maturity, but everything is more quiet now than when we last viewed the scene. 'While the robin still chirps, his is now a busy song, for his mate and little ones must be provided for. Still, vivid flashes of red and blue are seen, and often snatches of a merry song are heard, but things seem filled with a quiet of responsibility. All troubles and cares can now be forgotten in the. soothing balm which Nature offers. Lying on the soft grass amid the flowers, in the cool shade of some tree, with face upturned to the azure sky, one could almost imagine himself dreaming away the hours in Arcadia. Again we view the same scene in autumn. A misty, purple haze enfolds the higher hills, the sun rises in clouds of red, and the east wind blows over the place. making the gor- geous, many-tinted trees rustle like proud dames in their rich silks. The dandelions, which before made the hillside so warm and cheery, have grown old and hoary-headed in their efforts to liven up this sinful old world. Still, here is busy, happy existence. The squirrels and other furry denizens of the forest are bustling about gathering stores for the coming winter, and the caw of the rooks and merry chatter of the blackbirds are heard, while above all. like a benediction over God's world. spreads the soft, calm, blue of the auttunn sky. Now, winter is here. The landscape is softly, warmly wrapped in a white blanket, in- stead of the yellow one which so recently enveloped it. The sun rises in pale colors, the palest violet fading into gray, orange blending with a faint rose-pink then deepening again, while each crystal of the dazzling whiteness, reflecting the sun's rays in many colors, is in itself a tiny rainbow. Each tree and bush wears Uermine too dear for an earl. Each twig bears its light burden, and with every motion of the limbs, the soft masses fall, once in a while half- burying some unlucky cottontail who goes scurrying away, convinced, like Chicken Little, that the sky is falling. A deep quiet pervades the whole atmosphere, and soothes the spirit of any weary mortal who may seek out his Mother Nature, and in pale letters across the still paler winter sky is inscribed the word Peace, The poet says, Happy is he who holds communion with Nature in all her varied forms. She is a teacher who approves our worthy actions and who reproaches our guilty consciences in her gentle and kind way, a friend, sympathetic in joys and sorrows, a mother in whose arms we may rest, and into whose willing ear. we may pour forth our inmost feelings. When troubles assail us, we feel nearer to our Creator when near to Nature, imbibing her quiet, unobtrusive teachings. She tells none of our secrets, betrays none of our confidences. They are safer with her than with our dearest friends, and until we earn a place in a far better land, and win far better friends, what more responsive and sympathetic comrade than Nature can be found? She is sufficient and powerful for those who would associate with kings, but more than sufficient, more powerfully sustaining for those who go humbly acknowledging their own ignorance and seeking to leam. Wfio will reject a friend like this? She is waiting just outside your door. Go, and find her and let her take you whithersoever she will: abide with her, until something of her own gracious spirit blends with yours, and spreads its sweetness in lives made better by your presence. l MARJORIE T. CAMPION. 'I3. 30

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ix , Muna 1' ' A ' H Bll or filigree lfelll nature . fWritten without notes or preparation from list of subjects assigned in classroom., fifswikkkw AVE you ever spent a day or half-day with someone whom you X -4 N' W greatly reverenced or admiredg some noted author, some far- famed artist, or some great composerg and do you remember the happiness of that day, and the satisfied feeling with which you now look upon it? Now, it is not everyone who can boast of intimate acquaintance with sage or poet, with earthly poten- Ef3'Z'!7 ' 1555 l -3 lip, W. . .gn 'glib Maker. And for what great tate or kingg yet no one need feel himself debarred from the noblest of associations. Whoever he may be he has a friend, one of the most true and loving and inspiring, in God's great universe, if he only knows where to look. Let such a one turn to Nature, and there, see all that is best and most beautiful, the most perfect creation of our great er bliss could one wish than to be in close communion with Nature, not for a half day, or all day, or even a week, but always? She is perfect in all her various forms and phases. Every flower with its daintily molded stamens and its petals of delicate hue, every leaf with its carefully cut edges, every blade of grass with its scarcely per- ceptible, yet faultless central vein, shows the nicest of workmanship. The towering mountains in their imposing grandeur. the deep valleys with their verdant greenery, the great forests, the open plains, all are perfect in their own way. Nature is always beautiful, yet, in each successive season, she seems more exquisitely lovely than in the one just past. In the morning of a fair spring day, when all outdoors is fresh and teeming with new life and spirit, when the sun is just kissing the tops of the hills, and bathing the dew-laden flowers in his rosy lightg then. everything seems to rejoice in the very fullness of its exist- ence, and to say: It's good to'be alive. The dainty violet bravely rears its fairy blossoms above the parent earth, and the delicate wild rose runs riot over all the other bushes. Dande- lions dot the hillsides, making it seem as if a bright, warm, yellow blanket were thrown over the slopes to give a cheerful glamour to the whole landscape. The daisy-filled meadows re- mind one of a waving sea which glistens and ripples in the sunshine, while from down in that waving sea, the chirping of Robin Redbreast sounds cheerfully through the morning stir. Now, a flash of living fire, darting through the air, betrays the welcome presence of His Eminence, the Kentucky Cardinal, all the more fiery. because of the tender green of his background. Everything feels new life springing up within it, a fresh vigor, and the joyous- ness of youth. Then sweet spring merges into radiant summer and: What is so rare as a day in June? ' Then, if ever, come perfect days, Then, heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays. Whether we look or whether we listen. We hear life murmur or see it glisten. 29

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Wu 1 wing p ,mug PWIQ li Qsvuf :snug V mac mug 1 N415 lg UN IIIQSSGQQ Of fl, I And I knew not cared not, where. N my little craft I drifted, ED ' 1 And I was happy, so happy That I lived in a world so fair. l-low long I drifted I know not, But a perfume divinely sweet Was borne on the balmy breezes And I sat erect in my seat. Then I saw bright lily faces Peeping over the water top: And a sudden intuition Made me know they bade me stop. the wdltl' lIilitS O lilies, I said. why stop me? Won't you make me some reply? I have felt your sweet attraction, Shining lilies, tell me why. Then spake the tallest lily, ln a voice of music rare, We stand for all that is purest, For all that is good and fair. From the slimy depth of the water, Our stainless blossoms grewg Then learn that your soul's pure whiteness Rests not with your lot, but you. MARGARET MCALLISTER, 'I 5. l.,-l...-.-1-1 i,-l...-.l-i-i mv EOS! Ponv I HAD a little pony and a classic name E51 'Q I he bore, And he carried me quite safely for a Through old Gallic fields I wandered where Great Caesar once had pondered Many a daring plan of battle, many a wile. I loved my little pony with his back of glossy brown. And I kept him out of sight of prying eyesg But at last came one who spied him, Though I'd tried so hard to hide him, ' And she calmly took away my cherished prize. Now I plod with drooping spirits through that dreary Gallic land In the footprints left by Caesar in the soilg But the ground seems very stony and I miss my little pony. And the days are full of weariness and toil. 31