Forster Secondary School - Spartalogue Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

Page 25 text:

Page Twenty-Two THE SPARTALOGUE — 1957 mmamumvifA ARROW HEAD Flinty fragment of a crumbled age, Whose heart did leap to see thee from the bow Spring forth in feather’d switness o’er the sages Toward the startled prey? And who did know The keenness of thy scalloped knife-knicked edge, The whispered shriek of lacerated air, The pained cry of the hunted as the fledge Swift arrow struck? And who did homeward bear Across his s inewed back the bloodied prize? Who lost thee once atop this time-shaped mound. Who searched for thee with deep-discerning eyes. Who searched for thee and left thee here unfound ' Til I should find thee here upon my way— A stony chip, a piece of yesterday. —Rosabelle Veighy, 13A. STILL WAITING Every night at twilight, I wander by the sea, Hoping, praying, dreaming, that you’ll come back to me. The slapping winds, the splashing waves, The gray clouds scudding through the mist, All remind me of a magic night, That cherished hour when first we kissed. As I stumbled along in the stony sand, I saw your bonfire burning Like a beacon bright in the midst of the night. Then you, the fire’s warmth spurning, Hurried toward me—then stopped—our eyes met; Softly you whispered my name; then gently, tenderly, You took me to your breast. That was a year ago. Now I m alone, with no one but you in my heart. —Margaret Sparling, 12A. WHO WILL GO? They call across the waters deep To us who here in slumber sleep; They want to know the God who loves; Though few do care, there is One who does. “Come over and help us!” is their plea; Who will go? Wilf you or me? They have sought in vain to find true life; They can have it only through Jesus Christ. They are ready and waiting the good news to hear. Is no one willing the Gospel to bear? They are steeped in sin and the blackness of night. Is there no one to carry to them the light? The Gospel has come to those in the West; Is there no one to carry the Word to the rest? Christ died for them as well as us; Is it not our duty to help the lost? —Marjorie Dubs, 12A. THE SENSES Sitting by the little stream— I listened To the murmur of the tiny, rushing brook; And tasted Of the water racing quickly through the nook; And watched The splash, the spray, as white and fine as lace; And felt The tingling cool of wetness on my face; And smelled The fresh, sweet tang of spring, through all the air; And thought How wonderful for us that God should care To give To undeserving men his best gifts free, The sense To hear, to smell, to taste, to feel, to see. —Dianne Campbell, 12A. A WONDER OF GOD’S CREATION Along the roadside or in the parks. When the air is full of the song of the larks, Our hearts are gladdened, our eyes refreshed By the sight of the trees in emerald dressed. In the months of fall they are artists’ delights, With leaves gently falling induced from their heights, Gracefully, slowly, floating with ease To the soft sweet song of the westerly breeze. Robbed of their beauty by zephyrs of fall, They stand yet in winter, both noble and tall, Majestic! in their robes, so white, Fit to adorn the Creator of Light. Now balmy spring follows a winter of strife, And the trees are laden with their buds of new life, Completing a cycle, so wondrous and odd, A constant reminder of the presence of God. —Carol Talbot, 11A.

Page 24 text:

“THE SPARTALOGUE — 1957 Page Twenty-One LIBRARY STAFF FIRST ROW (Left to right): Deanna Duggan, Dot Churchill. Barbara Gerow, Deneece Dudley. Dorothy Erdeg. SECOND ROW: Elaine Dockeray, Edith Dobell, Miss Philpot, Rosabelle Veighey, Margaret MacDonald. THIRD ROW: Dianne Bowen, Pat Dobson, Julia Murdock, Barbara Stepen- son. Lois Bowen. Books You Would Enjoy Readin FOR GIRLS Red Shoes for Nancy—M. Hamilton A shining story of a mother ' s sacrifice and endur¬ ing faith is told after she is confronted with tragedy involving her daughter. Lexy O’Conner—A. McKim Lexy’s escapades as a “green horn” school teacher has a triumphant conclusion with a flower¬ ing romance that makes this story as refreshing as a spring breeze. The Unwilling Heart—C. Marshall A teenager against the world—a common plot— but unusual when resentment is concealed and strides are taken to e nsure future happiness. Turn East, Turn West—L. Creighton (Senior) In this novel of a girl’s stormy awakening, Creighton has created a character as large as life. The clarity and tenderness that were manifested in her first novel “High, Bright, Buggy Wheels, have blossomed now into warmth, vigour, and humanity. Song of the Voyageur—B. Butler Written by a blind, twenty-year-old college student, “Song of the Voyageur,” sensitive, vital, and dramatic, was conceived as a college project. FOR BOYS Adventures With Reptiles—C. J. Hylander This book is a “must” for every nature lover, outdoor biologist, and armchair adventurer. It is the kind of success story that proves that truth is stranger than fiction in a curious and unusual profession. The Boy Scientist—J. Lewellen This up-to-the-minute survey of the exact science is bursting with facts that every modern boy wants to know. Each chapter proves afresh that the scientific method is continually and vitally remak¬ ing our world. Best Sports Stories—1955—I. Marsh A panorama of the 1954 sports year unfolds, coupled with some of the best and most action- packed sports photographs to form this refreshing book of facts. Beyond the Muskingun —M. Boesch This is an unusual treatment of life in the wilder¬ ness that ranks high in sheer excitement as white men dare to transgress on Indian property. FOR BOYS AND GIRLS Heroic Heart—Malthe-Bruun A moving testament to faith and freedom is told by a young hero of the Danish underground speak¬ ing through letters to his loved ones. A Man Called Peter—C. Marshall This is the luminous personal story of a great man of God, Peter Marshall, written by his wife— a moving record of an inspired ministry and a warm, truly happy, marriage. Arctic Doctor—Dr. Moody “Arctic Doctor” combines all the drama of a doctor’s career with the adventures of a northland explorer to make fascinating reading for young and old. White Panther—T. Waldeck Ku-ma, the white panther, leads a legend of jungle lore to the pages of this travelogue as the author goes on safari to provide excitement and entertainment for any age. Continued on Page 38

Page 26 text:

THE SPARTALOGUE — 1957 Page Twenty-Three The Cure Dawn Campbell, 13A How dreary it was to lie there, day after day, year after year, so long that time lost meaning! To some, the bright azure of the sky, and the deep green of the branches of the date-palms against the gold of the sand would have been a picture of great beauty. To him it was a scene of pain. The sun • grew so unbearably hot that he hated to stir from his place in the shelter of the arch, but he had to • try. Each time the waters bubbled in the pool, some fortunate souls reached them, and were cured of their afflictions, but such had not yet been his fate. He lay this day, watching the white clouds drift lazily by, pondering, as he had so often, the miracle of the waters. Some maintained that their healing L powers came from something unknown within the waters themselves, but most agreed that it must be the work of angels, for who but they could work miracles? Countless bodies had been cleansed, crip¬ pled limbs had been straightened, and blind eyes had been made to see. Would his turn never come? He tried so hard to reach the pool, but the pain was searing, and his legs so twisted and useless that he could only drag his body along slowly and with great difficulty. Before he could reach it, others always filled the pool, for he had no friend to bear his wasted body to the edge of the water, so that he might receive the blessing of the angels. The arduous journey back was always a nightmare. At first he had hoped, each time, that perhaps his turn would be next, but after nearly forty years, one lost that sort of hope, and became filled with a desolation and desperation born of years of dis¬ appointment. This day as he lay, he had an inexplicable feeling that somehow, to-day was different. What caused this feelin g he did not know. Suddenly, as he looked around, he saw a man l who he knew was going to change his life. If he lay on his mat, in the shadow of the arch, for the rest of his days, he would always remember the look on that face, and never again would he feel cheated of the greatest things in life. The man to whom the face belonged was rather slight of stature, and very unimposing, but his pres¬ ence was felt by everyone who saw him. From his eyes shone a clear light of peace, and his lips ex¬ pressed a great compassion and pity for the suffer¬ ers about him. The cripple felt himself drawn to r this stranger as if his whole being depended on him. The burden of the years fell from his soul, like a task completed, as the other gazed on him. What power could this man have to make one feel so wonderfully uplifted? It was almost like being recreated! But now the newcomer was walking towards the sick man as if he planned to speak to him. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him as a , t friend. A wild surging hope leaped up in the breast of the sufferer. Perhaps he could even persuade this man to wait until the water bubbled in the pool and to carry him to the water’s edge. When this gentle person reached the cripple, he asked him a question, “Would you like to be cured?” The helpless man brokenly told of his misery, and how he longed for someone to carry him to the water. The other spoke only seven words in reply—then quietly disappeared. “Rise, take up your bed, and walk,” he said. Without hesitation, the lame one did as he was bidden. He felt new strength surge into the limbs which were powerless for so long—he was whole again. For him, the birds once more sang a joyful song, and his soul exulted in the beauty around him. He was filled with the pure joy of being alive. But he had forgotten one thing—he did not know the man who had healed him. His inquiries brought the simple answer, “His name is Jesus.” SUSAN Susan is made of whipcord and iron. Of whipcord and iron is Susan made. Susan is made of the stuff of heroes Inside, ' though she’s a small sweet maid. Susan is four, and the world has no limit. It’s as wide and as deep as the love that is in it For her. And she skates the length of the street With flying flax hair and swift wings on her feet. Failure and defeat have no meaning to Susan. Susan is small, and determined, and tough. She has glow, and a zest and feeling for living That the world can not quench, be it ever so rough. —Mary Holden, 10D. A HOPE FOR PRAYER How many times has man been deep in doubt, Since peace and good, it seems, will never be? But there is One who lives and walks about, Whose guiding hand leads on to victory And hath unending faith been put to rout? Has man forgot the love once felt for Thee? Where shall he turn when light of hope is out, And nothing is, where truth should ever be? Oh God! that man may someday see the light That shines when he has done what is Thy will! That even in life’s deep despair, he’ll fight To do his best, achieve his goal; and still, When he has found success, has reached his height, Will thank Thee—that his task he did fulfill. —Marilyn Talbot, 13A. TRANSFORMATION The oak tree in its glory Stood serene and still. Its branches spread beneath the clouds Atop that lonely hill. Then suddenly the scene was changed; The sky grew dark and cold; The shadow of a cross was cast Upon the soldiers bold. And looking up they saw the cross And bowed with reverence there Toward the hill, where once had stood The oak tree proud and fair. —Judy Carter, 11D.