Gonzaga Preparatory School - Luigian Yearbook (Spokane, WA)

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W S :,:if N. by X ff, All Gi RN l qw, 2 , S- '41 J r 3. S 'Cv' in Tc 'Z 5 an T i X rim A , MW? rfld Xxx XX in , , NNN y , . T T T X Li! ll f f T l c ii G4 XR Qvg O N i SS will ff shes T3 ,gk-T ZZWW W A M577 T 5 15 X T Away, WNW f fmfiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllll 'X gjzrewor URING our years aT Gonzaga we have learned To fulfill our duTies as ciTizens of These UniTed STaTes. We have been TaughT The TundamenTal principles laid down by our Tore- TaThers. The presenT crisis inTo which we, wiTh The resT of humaniTy, have been plunged, makes iT our duTy To see ThaT The power and producTiviTy of This counTry are raised To The abso- lure maximum, and To sTand TogeTher unTil The job is finished. As long as insTiTuTions such as Gonzaga exisT, There will always be young men ready To assisT in This naTion's hour of need.

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THE LUIGIAN 1942 E Published by the ASSOCIATED STUDENTS of the GONZAGA HIGH SCHOOL SPOKANE, WASHINGTON WILLIS POTTRATZ Editor DAN MANGAN Advertising Manager

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gn .Memoriam FLOYD E. DIXON MICHAEL J. ASAN When I haue seen the uain cost of worn out buried ages, Defaced by Time's cruel hand And such interchanges of state confounded to decay, This thought is as death which cannot help but weep To haue that which it wears to lose. Since sad mortality ouersways the power of brass And stone and earth and boundless sea, How can beauty hold a place with this rage When beauty's action is no stronger than a flower? Or how shall summer's honey breath Hold out against the battering siege of time, When impregnable rocks and gates of steel Are not so strong, but time decays? This you can see-that which strengthens loue Is to loue well what soon must be left behind, Which black night soon doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. The glories of blood and position are not substantial thingsg There is no armor against fate. The icy hand of Death reaches euen to kingsg Scepters and crowns must fall to the dust And be made equal to the spade and curving scythe, Only the works of the good blossom in the dust. Fear not again the sun's heat, the furious rage of winter, You haue done your worldly task well, You haue gone home to take your wages. Strange though it may be, who would change Time's course To a slower pace, when our friends haue gone one by One and left us with bleeding hearts? LEW ORIARD. -3- W.