Dominican Convent High School - Veritas Yearbook (San Rafael, CA)

Page 32 text:

A GELICO HALL .mM 5. vw! ow' f 1+ ,S 3, ' H WS , 1, cus NHS! W Fa '11 'S 'H i'1- 4' X I9 Vw-ui s 5 n 1 N r V . ..- ...1 ' M mf N

Page 31 text:

FRESHMEN CLASS Pwuiderrr . . . . . MauooTKaLLurr Vice-Pr'erider2t . . . . . . RossaTaDsVaLurss Serr'einr'y . . . . joan PATTERSON Trearrner . . . ...... Hruuunr Lsvnv ,, R l We We arrived in eager anticipation and with high ambitions, and as the year draws to a close, we lcok both forward and back-forward with hope of three more successful years, and back to the memory of a very happy one. True to tradition, we had a good time, with no thoughts for the consequences. But to balance our conduct, our scholarship has been of the best. We won live gold ribbons in one month! There have been varied activities this year, our Baby Party, dinner and picnic being the most outstanding. All in all, our year has been very happy and fruitful. Pr'erider1t ni... Mauoor Karma

Page 33 text:

In the course of years the little school deteriorated, and when I left the village the school had been sold, and the two sisters had moved away with their aged mother. I wonder what has happened to them now, those two old maids, who were not, after all, so very old, and who kept up the little school so bravely in the face of the dreary difficulties that are the lot of so many superfluous spinsters. Without children themselves, they endeavored to teach the children of others the essentials of honesty, truth and beauty, and perhaps when they get to heaven, they will teach the Cherubs that were so often compared to their earthly pupils. l A RENDEZVO US MARGARET HARRISON, '40 I spoke to Him that night. . . Beneath the halo of a pallid Jtar. The earth was drenched in misty midnight hlue. I heard ity drunken mockery from afar. Hespohetome... A The crarh of .rtreamlined Jteel, the frantic dayh Of cowardr, drowned Hir rpeech . . . I heard the futile cry Of perrerution rip a trembling shy. I hirred the woundx upon Hir Sacred Feet, All hare and hleeding. . . It reemr a Jilver tear had lost its course Without my heeding. THE APOSTA TE MARGARET HARRISON, '40 He saw the tall spires of a cathedral glimmer in the solemn night. He stood . . . cold . . . dirty . . . vile, an object of scorn to the world that passed by. He was hlled with a loathing disgust of all humanity, yet at the sight of the cathedral, a certain feeling of awe and trembling respect made him walk on . . . on to the Tabernacle of God, a God, Whom he had cursed for an eternity of years. He remembered Sunday School when he was a little boy 5 how he had hated it and dreaded the day when he must don a clean shirt, and listen to a lot of words which he could not possibly understand and never tried to. Then, he entered the Church. Not one person turned around to stare at him with cold calculating eyes, mocking eyes which he could gladly have poked out with hot cinders. The attention of everyone seemed to be held by something else, something mysterious and wonderful that drifted from the altar. He knelt, he raised his eyes with burning supplication, and falling on his face, with emotion, he gasped the words, My God, My God, why have you forsaken me ?