Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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HUBBY’S VACATION My darling, My darling, Come home to me now, To feed the poor hens, And milk the old cow. The sheep and pigs are calling, And everything is sad; The baby won’t stop bawling, And I cannot be glad. The garden needs a lot of care, The house needs painting new, And everything is upside down, Just waiting here for you. The furnace fire will not burn, The f liver will not start, If you don’t answer to my call, You’ll surely break my heart. The mice are eating everything, There’s no end to their sin, And I, poor wife, have worked so hard 1 ’m growing very thin. And many other things have happened Since last you went away, I’ll tell the rest to you, my dear, If you’ll come home to-day. CHRISTINE MOULTON, ’19. THE RETURN OF OUR HERO There comes a sound of many feet, Marching down the crowded street, A flag is in each person’s hand, They all are listening for the band. We fondly gaze to left and right, To see if he will pass our sight; Then suddenly a smiling boy W aves his hand to us in joy. It is our hero home once more, From fighting on the foreign shore, Our big, strong, stalwart hero Ted, And he is at the very head. The price he had to pay was dear, Yet he did it without fear, He lost his leg, ‘tis true, But he did all he could do. But now he is home at last, So we must forget the horrid past, And only think of the future so near Which we will spend with our loved one dear. CATHERINE CALDWELL, ’21. THOSE WHO DO NOT RETURN God bless them ! those who do not return, May they be honored and loved, And may they not be wholly forgotten, Those who ' have gone — our beloved. We cannot welcome them in this world, But soon we shall meet up above, And then we ’ll show our greatest thanks. Our reverence, honor, and love. But they shall not be forgotten, Those whom they left over here, And we’ll join together as one, Llear Lord, and welcome their loved ones so dear. God bless them ! as they lie in graves, Marked by the little white cross, God bless them! all those gallant braves, The nation’s greatest loss. GEORGIA E. REID, ’19. THE LEGEND OF HEARTBREAK HILL There is a story often told, ♦ Of an Indian maid and her lover bold. She belonged to the Agawam tribe, Her lover came from the good ship Guide. He came from far over the sea To buy a cargo of tobacco and tea, To take to his people who were at home, Awaiting his return from over the foam. 14

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The sea fleet at anchor in the bay, Rides calmly out of the terrible way Of storms that on the ocean sweep And the greater danger beneath the deep, Cruisers, destroyers, mine sweepers, and all, Who kept the sea clear through summer and fall — Th rough summer and fall and winter and spring, Far to the north, where with, scarlet tinge The Aurora touches all that venture there, And fills ice, sea, and sky, with a burning glare. Far to the south where the star cross gleams, And the sun fills the day with burning beams, In North, in South, by islands green, Seeking to sink the submarine In every sea the fleet has been. And now from roof tops flags fly out, And the streets are filled with a singing crowd, When hark! from along the streets rolls a roar, Gaining in volume, more and more, Till the air fleet hears it up in the sky, And the sea fleet echoes it back with a cry, And the city rocks from base to tow ’r, For up the street the khaki column comes, With the shout of the crowd and the beat of drums. The Yankee division is home again — The Yankee division of Argonne fame, Of Belleau wood and many more — That’s why the city is filled with a roar, Why air planes swoop and glide in the sky, And why their fame shall never die. Hail to the glorious Twenty-sixth! IT. N. DOUGHTY, Jr., ’21. ON A BATTLEFIELD IN FRANCE The Red Cross Nurse laid her cool white palm Upon his fevered brow. The wind lapsed down to a gentle breeze, And all is quiet now. The sound of battle now is hushed, The dead of night is here, The soldiers in the trenches now Do show no sign of fear. All in the quiet waste about, Is heard no sigh nor groan, No wounded lying on the ground, But the soldier and nurse alone. The Red Cross Nurse knows not the man Who by her side doth lie. She only knows that he’s the man She came to save or die. A wounded aviator he, Who o’er the clouds did fly, Until a bullet’s cruel shot, Did lure him from the sky. She saved his life, for long she tried, To stem the lifeblood’s flow, A.nd save this gallant soldier boy To fight against the foe. Days later when he came to life, He heard the story told, Of how the Red Cross angel brought Him back from death’s grim hold. He was the greatest of those men Who o’er the clouds do fly, She helped her country most, right when She answered one man’s cry. DOROTHY HALL, ’21. 13

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lie met the maiden every day, It made her heart grow light and gay. But soon he must sail over the sea, Back again to his fair country. Every day at early morn, When th e sun first began to dawn, The Indian maiden would wander free To look for her lover over the sea. As the maiden stood on the rock one day, Watching over the waters so gay, The angel of death opened the gate, That she might pass in and for her lover wait. And so the legend we still hear, As the hill grows older year by year, That this is the reason for the fame Of the curious hill with the curious name. MARION PHILLIPS, ’19. MY VISION The stars float gently through the sky Like candles in the air; The meadow breezes waft to me The flowers’ perfume there. The trailing shades through moonlit glades Steal hither from the west ; Stirring the trees, the evening breeze Sinks gently into rest. I lifted my eyes to the dark’ning skies, As guided by a spell, Hark! what do I seem to hear? Soft music like a bell. The heavens are lit by holy light, They seem to part in two, Am I asleep? It can’t be so, For I hear the Night’s Curfew. My eyes are held by unseen force To that opening in the sky, And through it pass a heavenly throng, The dwellers up on high. Their robes are of the purest sheen Of beauteous brightness fair; Around their forms a wond’rous light Gleams in whiteness there. The angels part and Him I see, Leading by the hand A new arrival into heaven, A soul just from this land. It seemed his face grew plainer. Oh Lord, What can I see? My heart did bound with joy sublime. I cried, “Tis he, ’tis he!” It was my father led by Him Once more for me to see, And as I watched, an angel, too, Myself I seemed to be. Jesus touched him with a cross And he was robed in white, Then angel harps rang out again Into the stilled night. The heavens closed, I strained my eyes To see my father’s face, But it was gone and I prayed to God, And thanked His Holy Grace. LUCY M. LEE, ’22. MY WORST PUNISHMENT 1 ’ve heard of every punishment That is handed out by judges, To men who’ve tried to straighten Their disputes and their grudges; But never have 1 heard of one, With such chastising power, As to have to sit and practice One’s music by the hour. 15