Hobart Senior High School - Memories Yearbook (Hobart, IN)

Page 15 text:

HIGH SCHOOL. “Beware the teacher’s big class book, Beware his stern and scornful look,” This was that class’ last good-bye And from them all escaped a sigh Pit via vi. There in the glare of the electric light They sat on their commencement night, And from the sky serene and far A voice fell like a falling star

Page 14 text:

12 HOBART TOWNSHIP CLASS POEM FIT VIA VI. LILLIAN ROSSO W, ’08. The happy days were Hying fast, As through a term of school there passed A class, who bore, from good advice A banner with a strange device Fit via vi. Their number small, their strength was great This class of nineteen hundred eight, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of an unknown tongue Fit via vi. In other schools they saw the light Of classes working day and night, Great victory was theirs at last ; The trials and troubles of school had passed Fit via vi. “Try not to pass,” the professor said, “Without hard work and fear and dread, The thorn strewn way is deep and wide, ” And loud their voices to him replied Fit via vi. “O stay,” said juniors, “and assist Our weary brains to learn all this,” Some tears stood in their bright, bright eyes But yet they answered with loud cries Fit via vi.

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1 1 llOHAKT TOWNSHlt THE EPIC of T5he WEST; ITS HERO GLADYS MACKEY. g IIE legend runs that once in a thousand years a literary genius is born. Of this rare type of man the poet stands first, and the greatest poet is the epic writer. The world has produced but six great epics. The blind Homer sang in lofty strain the heroic epic of the Greeks. Virgil echoed in majestic tones the wanderings of the brave Aeneas and the fabled birth of thrice magnificent Rome. Dante por- trayed the universal conflict of the human soul. Tasso chronicled the sad yet glorious record of the crusaders. Our Saxon forefathers sang the martial lays of Beowulf, and lastly, the sweet voiced Milton recited the sorrows of fallen man in the sublime words of “Paradise Lost.’’ These are the great epics of history, but the greatest song remains unsung. There is yet to appear some poet immortal, who shall sing the unparalleled epic of our own beloved America, relating the deeds of our hero, the western pioneer, conqueror of the wilderness, patriot deliverer of the oppressed, inven- tor, scientist, state builder and captain of industry. In every American heart there should be a feeling of intense admiration for the daring hero who wrought out of this vast wilderness, inhabited by savages, our civilized and highly enlightened nation. Is it not right that a greater epic be written relating his deeds, greater and more wonderful deeds than those of all other heroes who have ever blessed mankind ? Let us follow him as he leads the vanguard of our nation’s progress across the continent. When the colonies were in their infancy hordes of immigrants constantly came to this country and ever as they came they pushed farther and farther inland. Little did they I’ealize the vast regions which lay beyond the eastern mountains. It took more than a century for these early settlers to occupy the Atlantic slope, but in the next three quarters of a century they spread from the Alleghenies to where “the Golden Gate lets in the long heaving billows of the Pacific.’’ At first the progress of the pioneer was slow ; life was a constant battle, on every hand he encountered the dreaded red man. The Indians were a poorly governed people, loved cruelty for cruelty’s sake, continually broke faith and became more and more enraged as the pioneer settled the country