Franklin College - Almanack Yearbook (Franklin, IN)

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' o ,. . ,. ny Roscoe GILMORE srorr, '04 Let me carol Today! The hope and the dream of it, V' '1 - he The sweep and the depth of it, wild, weird crash of it, The sob and the sigh, The resonant shout, The clanging of chains, The maddened engines, che its belts, its gears, its rods, And its giant spans! God, I was made for Today! I am its breath and its food, I am its slave and its cog, A cog in its wild whirring wheel I am an atom of wine, A joyous atom in its full cup, Today claims me, seizes me, tireless spinning of its wheels, 3 Thrills me, cheers me, loves me,- Today sends me forth! Let me carol Today! Tho men jeer at my caroling, Tho fools prate of beflowered Pas Tho the impoverished old VVeep in their places. Bid me sing with a full throat ts, Glnhag In its mammoth market-place, Or cry its praises in the people's halls, Or shriek it forth To the vibrant, echoing winds! Bid me lift up my voice, Bid me reflect my passionate joy, Bid me waken the dead, Today hath anointed me- I am a prophet! Today is Life's herald and reformer, Today is a ministering spirit, Whose food is Hre, And whose drink sparkles With the dye of heroic blood, Today is Who has Today is Who has Today is Who has Today is lvlanls great giver, taught him to give, Manls exacting task-master, prodded him to duty, Man's impartial judge, taught him justice, Man's holy example, His sacred pattern, His unfailing chart! Let me carol Today! Yesterday was a coward who fled, Who mocked us in fleeing. fe X ,gjgm H ,vw-N YQQVVVVQ 7 YVVV Y www .UVV r e. Qs! QYYQQWQ ef-2 , - Tomorrow is fickle, Tomorrow is Time's mirage, Fatels hollow smile, Death's banquet. Let me carol Today! Let me sing of this precious hour! It is a marvelous and composite Thing Made of the sacrifice of patriots, Of the blood of pure women, The The The The The The brain cells of the inventor, dream of the inspired poet, song of the ancient plowman, despair of the pioneer, retreat of the savage, sword of the brave, And the prayer of the pious. God, I claim Today- Today only is mine! Crowd into my knowledge its mystery Point out its quality, Measure for me its sacred worth! Today's sun lights up the whole world! God, bid me carol! fCourtesy The Man Sings .l

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my .. . , i I' v .........., ,..,.. - ,,,..,,.. ,. ,.,,,. .I ,.,,, 5 if ,....,,,,,.,,.,,,,, ,.,,,...........,,.,..,.,.,,,,,,,,,,, A 1 'xx ---- fs W S S, ' Q Q. ETSI..- .............. . ,.,.,,..,,...,, ......,...,. .,k, jx 0 Uh? gint!-I By CLYDE BISHOP W1LsoN ULES govern all conduct-fighting, writing, loving. If, for instance, a girl likes a boy pretty well she may, if not stubborn, take it as a reciprocal sign if he comes first to her with his joys and triumphs. Lois Trouch was not stubborn, therefore, when she saw Duncan Wall take the three veranda steps at a single hurdle, a little thrill stirred the color in her cheeks and warmed her welcome. Are you glad, Lois? panted Duncan. It is splendid, Dunk-Mr. Editor of the Annual. How does it sound?'l It will sound better when I've made goodfl 'fYou will. UI'll make it the best the old college has ever crowed over! he pronounced. 'fNeed any help? quizzically from Lois. Duncan, full of a fine zeal, missed the mischievous re- buke. Oh, I won't have time to do it all, he replied seri- ously. HI will have to have contributions, of course. A sudden animation marked Lois' reply. Let me write a short story for you, Dunk, she cried, eagerly. Duncan smiled indulgently. f'All right, he replied. 'fBut I am in earnest. lVIay I try it? she persisted. f'Be serious, girl. You have never written anything, have you PH he asked, absently. 'fWell, nothing but practice stuff. But I know I can. I just know it. I feel it. And I have studied some, too. lEleven I have never talked about it much, but,-won't you let me try, Dunk? This made it awkward. Duncan was a little vexed to note that she was in earnest. Why, Lois, I-I can hardly reserve space for you on such an uncertainty. You see I have to make this An- nual a winner. Do you really know anything about short story writing: the technique, the rules, and all that sort of thing? You know I can't let it be filled up with a lot of amateurish and unskillful stuff. I'm only going to run one short story, anyway, and I've already asked Pro- fessor Carstadt to contribute it. He knows the game. A super-serious estimate of his official character plus a pardonable ardour, rendered the boy a little tactless. Lois was piqued. Spirit, closely akin to temper, spiced her reply. 'fThere's a difference between knowing the game and playing it. I haven't seen his name on any magazine covers or Tuxedo advertisement. 'fNow, Lois, do be sensible. Why, Carstadt knows every rule of technique ever laid down, from Aristotle's Poetics to the modernized principles of hrlelville Davis- son Post. I-Ie knows by heart the combined treatises of hlathews, Perry, Pater and Pitkin, Poe and Stevenson are his class by-words. And you have to follow the rules, too- HYou talk like I might never have seen even the title of a text book, retorted Lois, warmly. 'WVell, but you have to know all the rules. Do you