Kouts High School - Kostang Yearbook (Kouts, IN)

Page 18 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL ■ 16 We ail may look to sun and plain With fearful odds against us east, As if we ne’er might see again These visions in our feeble past. If fate shall solve its prophecy, The riddle is already read; Hut life is no plutocracy, It’s not in vain by prophet bred. No anguish is a thought of ours, We only live in constant fear; No other source can give more pow’rs For precious deeds to reappear. Our fortunes all will various he, And destiny alone can tell How wish becomes a prophecy Of vanquished ills that leave us well. To principle we’ll always stick, Regardless .of confronting ways; The purest gems we’ll always pick, To hold in Glory’s mighty rays. There’s nothing great so lightly won, But when we win it pays the cost; A good deed’s always nobly done, Therefore what’s won is never lost. Many a man with busy brain, The heir of all dexterity, Must brave the sea when serious drain Comes forth in seeming rarity. There’s no one here with judgment pure, To draw from life without array, The very best that lacks the lure Of high ambitions of the day. Now to ill luck we cannot yield, Nor can we from all treasures hide; If failure dawns upon the field, We can but try and change the tide.

Page 17 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL 15 LIVING IN DEEDS. (Class Poem.) UR trumpet sounds no ill retreat, Nor leaves us vantageless to stand; The vanquished ills we hourly meet, Leave firm our feet with sword in hand. We choose the path we might pursue, An illusion of a beautiful dream; A deed that’s true we all ean do, If apparition dull may seem. When shall we reap the longed for seed That sprouts in manhood’s rugged way? From man’s first want to his last need, It faithfully ’waits his long delay. By slow degrees we steadily rise, While history is a lengthened rhyme; In lowliness we’ll be more wise, And live the life that is sublime.

Page 19 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL 17 If ours is knowledge of the laws, We’ll cast no eyes on prospects drear From which no human wisdom draws, But always waits ’till they are near. To live without the constant love, Will wisdom be to grieve; And to consider self above, May be the hope that will deceive. Not few there are on earth like this, That seek so long but all in vain, The gems they’ve passed of greatest bliss, In daily, busy, strife for gain. May each sad face loom up and cheer! Speak not alone of days gone by, But greet us with a tale that’s dear, And of the morrow’s lacking sigh. Then let us all hold on to youth. And gather flowers while we may; The time is fleeting, grasp the truth, For we’re not coming hack this way. OTTO A. HOFFERTH, ’ll.