Girls High School - Journal Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 33 text:

The Journal So Star Flower wandered on and on until he came to a singing brook. Oh, Singing Brook, can you show me the way to the Gates of Gold?” Oh, Angel,” rippled the Singing Brook, each day I pass between two banks covered with shining buttercups. They are very beautiful, and they look like gold. Are they the gates which you seek?” No,” said Star Flower sorrowfully, they are not my gates. I must search on farther.” So little Star Flower wandered on and on, ever searching, longing for the Gates of Gold which led to the City of Contentment. For many days Star Flower wandered, asking the Rainbow and the Ocean Waves if they could lead him to the Gates of Gold. One day as Star Flower stood on a hillside gazing wistfully at the blue sky, he heard a voice say, Star Flower, weary wanderer, seeker of the Gates of Gold, search no farther. Those who leave the City of Contentment can never return. But because you left, not of your own desire, but because you lingered too long in the Garden of Love, and because you have searched so faithfully for your home, you shall be rewarded. Stay here and watch.” So Star Flower lingered on the hillside, sorrowful because he could never again behold the home he loved so well, but happy because his Master had seen his faith- fulness and was pleased. All day long Star Flower stayed on the hillside, watching and waiting; and, just as the sun was sinking in the West, he saw a wondrous sight. He saw a beautiful bay of clear, shining water; on either side was a tall, rocky cliff. Beautiful flowers were growing upon the cliffs, and the setting sun sent myriads of light rays flashing across the waters. The ripples on the water sparkled like dia- monds, and the cliffs and the waters were as of gold. The sky above was of a hazy blue,' and fleecy clouds were floating here and there. Star Flower gazed in wonder at the beautiful sight; and then as the true mean- ing became clear to him he cried in rapture, Golden Gate! My Golden Gate! At last I have found you. Never again will I leave this hillside for it is to me a garden of love.” As Star Flower spoke, he felt a wave of happiness sweep over him; and looking down into the Mirror of Waters, he saw that he had taken the form of the little flower whose name he bore. So the Golden Gate received its name which it bears to this day. And if you will search among the flowers on the hillside, you will find a little blue flower that was once an angel who had wandered too far from the Golden Gates leading to the City of Contentment, and had found, at last, a resting place. Elizabeth Darling Best, June ’28 [ twenty-nine ]

Page 32 text:

The Journal THE LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN GATE Far beyond the azure dome of the earth, lies a beautiful City with Gates of Gold. It is called the City of Contentment. Just outside the Golden Gate is a garden with fragrant flowers and sparkling fountains. It is the Garden of Love. Here the Baby Angels play all the day, laughing and singing, for they have no sorrow to cast a shadow on their happiness. But every evening, when the Light of Earth fades, the Angels must pass into the City; for only within the City of Contentment is there Eternal Light. And as the sun disappears beneath the Waters of the Western Sea, the Gates close; and only those within the City can see them. One day, the littlest Angel, called Star Flower, wandered too far from the Golden Gate and was left outside. He wandered through the Garden calling to the Keeper of the Gates, Let me in, for I am weary, and I know not where to go.” But the Keeper of the Gates heard him not, and presently the Gates disappeared. Little Star Flower was left alone. All through the night Star Flower wandered, until, in the darkness, he left the Garden of Love, not knowing that he had done so. When the first streaks of dawn appeared in the Eastern Sky, Star Flower waited eagerly for the Gates to open, but alas, the Golden Gates did not appear! Little Star Flower knew that he was lost. Star Flower’s heart was very heavy as he wandered on and on, seeking the Gates of Gold. Presently he came to a little bird. Oh, Blue Bird,” cried Star Flower, have you seen two gates of shining gold? I am Star Flower, and I am lost. I cannot find my way to the City of Contentment.” Oh, Star Flower,” sang the Blue Bird, I have my nest between two tall sun flowers. They are golden when the sun shines upon them. Perhaps they are the gates that you seek.” No, little bird,” said Star Flower sadly, they are not my gates. My gates are tall and shining, and sparkling diamonds are scattered here and there. A beautiful blue arch is over them, and garlands of flowers are twined around the sides.” So little Star Flower wandered on and on, and soon he came to a gray squirrel with a long bushy tail. Oh, Gray Squirrel,” said Star Flower, have you seen two gates of shining gold?” Oh, Angel,” chattered Gray Squirrel, I have my home in a tall tree between two branches of golden brown. Perhaps they are the gates which you seek.” Star Flower sadly shook his head. No, they are not my gates. I must go on.” [ twenty-eight ]

Page 34 text:

The ourn a L REVERIE I climbed a hill at the first dim hint of dawn; The landscape far below me spread Like the myriad colored rugs of Persia, Breathing a memory of her whom I had loved,— Who now was gone. Yet even the bitterness of grief can not blind me To the beauties of the world, Whose purple mountains frame a landscape. Where winding rivers shine like gleaming silver ribbons, And lofty pines proudly stand guard Over the country-side. The sun and the sea blaze as one; The murmur of the brooks and the song of the birds Become to me a mystic melody, Instilling in me an ecstasy of living Tinged with a deep and haunting sadness That I must go on—alone. Jean Hamilton, June ’27. WHEN NIGHT COMES Across the waters at eventide, Under the sunset’s dying glow, Like mystic lights of fairyland The sparkling ripples come and go. Far, far above in the fading blue, So soon to be hidden by night’s dark shroud, Sail on, like boats in a fairy sea, So soft and fleecy, the silver clouds. Across the gleaming stretch of sand, Made misty by the ocean spray, Lies softly faded, a path of gold; A memory of the sun’s last ray. From out the heavens still and dark, But softened by the pale moonlight, There come the notes of the nightingale To tell the world ’tis the dawn of night. Elizabeth Darling Best, June ’28. [ thirty ]