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Page 28 text:
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171i ,, 2 17 f tv ri l k I Towers I stand and gaze into the sky At lofty buildings towering high. Their graceful spires in noon-day light Fade softly in the azure height. They seem to challenge me until I vow that I shall try my skill And some day build a tower that can O'er look all turrets raised by man. It may not be of stone and steel, But on a base more strong, I feel That I shall raise my soul to heights Beyond the reach of worldly lights. Roger Ufilliamv Favors Silver Coins Fling not prayers to fickle fateg Now I hold a tarnished centg I am man-I shall not wait Some how, though, I can't repent For favors coming late. For all the silver coins I've spent I F I l Twenty-four A Dead Bride The rootlets of a cherry tree Have crept so close, so close I feel their aching ecstasy For all the buds I cannot see. to nie Laughter The laughs provoked by clever jokes Will show the better side of folks. A smile induced by clever wile Will make the effort seem worth while. A laugh once started fills the air With shouts of glee that all will share And when the merriment begins Join in and add your smiles-or grins. 4 V Y- , ,, , Reberva Hmrsf WilIia1n Lang '! 4u ,1- T ' f l' i ' Aj:
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Page 27 text:
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lim, il-1:1 'ig - Y is ,ri- Whispers I turned around that I might see If one, by chance, was following meg But naught could I detect back there Except street lamps with vacant stare. Yet all the way I still could hear Those soft low whispers very near. My heart beat wildly in my breast And filled me with a vague unrest. I asked myself in accents dread, Were these the voices of the dead? - Or fancies of a vagrant brain? Or just the murmur of the rain Pl' Then memory began to spin The pattern of each secret sin, Of promises that I had made, Of debts that I had not repaid. And all the way I still could hear Those soft low whispers very near. H clen H ostetlcr. Roundel God give us work, the men cry out today. VV ith hope we start out early in the morn, At night back home we shuffle with dismay. God give us work. W'e wonder why this burden must be borne! It will be lifted soon we hope and pray. By sights of suffering our hearts are torn. Our children with starvation waste away. Our clothes are old and patched, our shoes are worn, For demon poverty holds us at bay. God give us work. Theodore H. Clarke. Twenty-three 1, ' 1 - YH' g 41 Y ,
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