Hartford Public High School - Classbook Yearbook (Hartford, CT)

Page 13 text:

THE CHRONTCLE All praise the one who saved his mates, Although no goods has he, And speak in scornful words of him W'ho acted cowardly. And so each one brings what he has, That all the world may see- In worldly riches, cowardice, Gr great humanity. , And now today, we leave the port For Life's wild, storm-tossed sea, To us just now the way looks clear, What will the future be? When storms we meet, with roaring gale, And into danger run, e Shall we turn coward, or shall we stay And save the weaker one? Shall we come in with cargoes rich, Or come with empty hold? Or shall we come with tattered sail, When all the story's told? Let's fill our hold with high resolve, With faith, and conscience clear, Let's seek to find the world's best gift- A life that knows no fear. Let us come back with decks all cleared, Our lines all trim and taut, And hear the captain greet us: Mates, A goodly light-well fought. MATTIE E. CYBRIEN

Page 12 text:

1. A. THE CHRONICLE Aboard the third boat on the rocks, Is seen a group of men NVho think of home, and those whom they May never'see again. Two of their group have perished, and They feel a giant wave Grind their boat beneath them, and They call on God to save. VVhen-see! there! coming toward them, As in answer to their call, They spy a tiny fishing boat, That comes to save them all. It's coming nearer, nearer still, In spite of dashing wave, And now it's reached their boat-oh, Thank God! for they are saved. Pk Pk :oc if :sf :of The night is gone, the storm has passed, 'Tis early in the morn, The beach is filled with village folk, From watching, tired and worn. Each has his fears, yet hope still fills The heart of everyone, W'hen, suddenly, dark sails are seen. Against the rising sun. And thro' the day, and all the night The workers come ashore, Not eighty joyous fishermen, But only sixty-four. Some bring back cargoes rich in fish, And others none at all, ' lvhile some come in with tattered sail That tells of harmful squall.

Page 14 text:

L... 7254 THE CHRONICLE ORATION RESPONSIBILITY N a recent number of the Atlantic Monthly was set forth most graphically a description of a huge locomotive rushing head- long in its midnight course through a small village. Several miles away the powerful headlight is seen fingering rails and telegraph poles with a shimmer of light. Silently, the twentieth century limited draws nearerg then suddenly it is almost above you. A wild roar of steam and driving wheels, the wail of the hoarse whistle at the cross- ing, and then, looming black against the sky, it smashes past. High in the cab window a motionless figure peers ahead into the night. Suddenly he is blackly silhouetted by the glare of the open fire-door, and in the orange light is seen the fireman swinging back and forth as he feeds his fire. The light burns against the flying steam and smoke above, then blackness-and now the white windows of the Pullman flicker past, and through the swirl of dust and smoke the two red lights sink down the track. Do we realize what this picture means? Imagine this almost animate monster tearing along its path ninety miles an hour, vomiting clouds of crimson smoke from its mouth, the oil reeking from its pant- ing sides. Ahead of the long body of the locomotive, extending in- credibly beyond the small front windows of the cab, the trackg from side to side the engine rocking like a plunging derelict, and, huddled up in the monster's very heart sits a motionless figure, his hand finger- ing throttle and air-brake. Looking far back, all is darkness, except the shining squares of light from the Pullmans. Here is his care, hundreds of souls peacefully sleeping and unaware. Here is his responsibility. What a responsibility! Again, is there any picture which brings more vividly to mind, closer to heart, what responsibility is, than that of a gorgeously fitted, modern vessel, an Imperator, as she plows the ocean, a massive bulk, darkly outlined against merging sea and sky? Aboard, her thousands of passengers are dreaming, it may be, of home and friends. Their trust lies in one man. There he stands aloft on the bridge, peering into the dark, a mere man guiding this leviathan of steel with its precious burden of human souls over the perilous deeps. Realize his responsibility. VVhat a responsibility!