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

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ww ww I ,wuz , ,wuz j 2:5906 f :wif j' Nui A mmf wud f office and the factory, must there be heard the voice of those who speak the speech of God amid the clamor of worldliness. Unless we can speak spiritual things strongly and sincerely enough to dominate the din of many conflicting voices, the spirit must be conquered by the world. We are the torch-bearers amid the fogs of unbelief, of discontent and deepening despair. Unless we speak of God, surely, Clearly, uncompromisingly, His name shall not be heard in I-lis world. You may ask me what a handful of convent girls can hope to do in their little corner of the world to Conquer its Spirit and Overcome its tendencies. But have you never noticed what even one vivid, purposeful, believing soul can do to vitalize any number of the slug- gish, the indifferent, the sceptical? In a society of doubters, it is faith that leads. The trouble with many of us is that we seem to think that it is a crime to be different from others. whereas we must be different to be ourselves. And if we are ourselves, we cannot help being the leaders of the world. It is only when we try to follow that we are out of place. Who is the woman who shall lead in this new crusade for broader opportunity, fuller life? I think it is the woman who is satisfied with nothing less than the best, the best thought as expressed in literature, the best standards as exemplified in her daily conduct. It is she who knows that the soul and not the body is the precious life she must first feed and expand and beautify: she who does not fear the world because she sees beyond it: she who enriches herself before striving for richesg the woman who thinks, who works, who prays-who dares to be what she is, who dares to do what she believes. llllifllldk Again let music with her magic art, Steal in our souls and fill each heart ' V With thoughts of roses and the shining flowers, That waft sweet incense from the leafy bowers, And so beguile us that we may forget The world and all its dread entanglements. Make us again, Oh music, so to feel That sweet endearment of thy gracious self , . That we shall clasp thee close and close enfold Our souls together in a bond so strong, That life shall be the harmony of one grand, sweet song. Be thou, sweet Mary, Music's voice, - And sing to us thy heart's own choice. Song- II I were a Rose miss mdtv Dtllligdlt SCC!!! 'Ill Last scene of all, and by fair Lydia's grace Our hearts shall rest, and our last thoughts shall be Of sweet St, Mary's, her enduring charms 46

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,+k.-wmv-,+L-+4.+L T+L- A+su+m+L MQ-PL. 1+w+.Q'l+L+.a+ 44+LJ2fLJ+L of taste. At any rate, if we desire something better than we get from Catholic writers and publishers, it might be more effective to ask for what we do want instead of repeating what we don't. Negative arguments never produce positive results. Let us say that we want strong fiction, human and vital and true, broad in its themes and sympathies as Catholic life itself. Let us say that we want real poetry, the kind that has eyes not only for the beauty of bud and flower, but that sees every bush aflame with God, the kind that looks upon the sunset and the stars as lamps lit from that Light that never was on land or sea, poetry varied in its inspiration as love and truth and beauty and hope and the high vision to which the lowest of us lift wistful eyes. Let us say that we want biography that shall charm and lure us with its literary grace to read of saints and scholars, great teachers and men of action. Give us history that shall tell truth as brilliantly as the history that has perpetuated falsehood. Give us books on every subject of human interest that shall stir and fill us with an appreciation of our educational achievements, of our artistic and architectural supremacy, of our music, of our charities, of those gripping social problems in the S0lUtl0l'l of which. if we do DOI lead the world, we shall inevitably follow it to an- archy, to infidelity and to destruction. There is no subject in the whole gamut of the interest or aspiration of men on which we do not need great and vital books. Where are they? They are waiting to be written until we are ready to read them. The importent question is whether we really and sin- cerely want them. . If we do, why is it that the Catholic writers who are producing real literature-and not only real literature but real Catholic literature-poets like the late Francis Thompson and Lionel Johnson, essayists like Bishop Spalding, Agnes Repplier, Alice Meynell and Louise Imogen Cuiney, historians like the Abbot Gasquer, even humorists like Mr. Dooley -why is it that writers like these, creators of the best literature of the day and generation, find their chief encouragement from the non-Catholic reading public? Do we reject Catholic literature in that knowledge of it, because we have heard once or twice thatit is feeble and pious? That word pious, strangely enough, is the most damn- mg if adjectives 50 a Catholic reader. Or is it because what we really want is something wea ers and cru er. than the weakest andicrudest output of Catholic writers at its worst? Is it because our literary tastes are fashioned by the English of the daily press by the popular magazine, by books-save the mark!-like the fiction of lVlacGrath aiid Mc- Cutcheon and the rest of the best sellers? Sometimes I think that is the true answer to the question. We might let it go at that if it were merely a question of literary taste. But it is a question of conscience, of the very survival of spiritual ideals. ln an age drenched in world- liness, intoxicated by its own pleasures and conquests, hideously self-sufficient, terribly satisfied with the present, every true Catholic is a voice crying in the wilderness. That speech of spiritual things which is the natural mother tongue of all humanity is almost a foreign lan- guage in the world today. The fostering of the literature of truth is not alone, therefore, for own self-expression. It is not alone that we may nourish the knowledge of our heritage of faith and culture, of sanctity and world-leadership, and that with this knowledge we may assume the erect and royal bearing among our fellows that befits the daughters of kings and scholars and saints, the children of those who have carried the truth of Christ uncorrupted through the centuries I It is for these reasons, and it is for a deeper reason still. It is because not in the pulpit or in the school or in the cloister, but in the world. in the mal'kCfPlHC6 and the shop and the 45

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3t9?l!!fSR92'l!!S9?l!QM!wtt2UQf3tt?l!!i3'2l!!I3 Z'l!il SW!!! . v iv i+w+ Q.+mr+Lia+a +a J+a-'ws-1+Li.a+a r+M+.Q+M.+r. hmm Shall travel with us, though our paths may stray To far-off countries and in alien lands,- She still shall hold us, and our hearts shall beat In sweet accord and unison. St. Mary, do thou guide us on And be our rest and comfort, ' Till the day be done, and all our work be finished. Response I0 coasl-HSI. mCflj,S miss llvdia Banlv When the secretary of the Executive Committee wrote requesting me to respond to a toast here today, I accepted with such alacrity that my presumption might have reminded her of the small boy who waved his hand frantically when his teacher asked for a sentence in which the word pendulum was correctly used. The youngster's response came, Light- ning was invented by Pendulaim Franklin. In order that I might not be 'so wide of the mark, I chose St. lVlary's as a theme, realizing that if there be any subject which could bring me inspiration it must be this. Shortly after receiving your secretary's letter, in looking over some old books that dealt with the early history of Ohio, I found in one dust-covered volume, the following note under the heading, Somerset in l846, - There is, in the town, a nunnery to which is attached St. Mary's Seminary. This institution is well conducted by the Sisters of St. Dominic, and many Protestant families send their daughters here to be educated. It was established in l830 by Bishop Fenwick, first bishop of Cincinnati. This is uninteresting enough to the ordinary reader, but what a Hood of thought and emotion it brings to you and to me. Unfortunately, those of our number who remember Somerset are growing yearly fewer, but we all know that this grand institution to which we pay homage today is just old St. Mary's rejuvenated, or possibly the change has been from youth to maturity. We all know that after some years our chronicler put down his pen. There was a fire--one of those blessings in disguise perhaps- then a generous gift of broad acres near our capital city, and St. Mary's, new indeed, yet old in her traditions, identical in her principles and ideals, arose again on the fair hills of Frank- lin County and has been rising ever since, until I fear some of her graduates will have to get airships to keep up with her. Truly we rise on stepping stones of our dead selves to higher things. just as the traveler in a strange country is first concerned in finding out which is east and which is west, so we, amid the ever changing horizons of life, must stop now and then to get our bearings. The poet speaks of the kindred points of heaven and home to which we may look for guidance. May not we who are assembled here today add St. lVlary's as the Mecca of our prayers? I think it is one of the greatest privileges of our lives that we can meet here every year and spend a wonderful day in this ideal environment among familiar scenes and old friends. The tie that binds us to St. Mary's is one of the purest, because it takes us back to OUT Youth: it is one of the happiest, since it binds us to the days when we looked forward rather than backward, for in hope there is no touch of regret while in retrospect there is always the sadness of autumn. Yet, after all, the past is our PYCSCHI l0Clay. Memory is king and as we gaze tenderly, regretfully upon girlhood haunts. we sing in our hearts: 47