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Page 68 text:
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34 L. S. C. ,I. ORACLE REMEMBRAN CE DAY SERVICE Remembrance Day was very littingly commemorated in London South Col- legiate. The Literary President, Marjory Lister, announced the programme. The service opened with the hymn Abide With Me, for which illuminated slides were used very effectively. A line solo, The Trumpeter, was rendered by Mr. Kenneth Smith, accompanied by Miss McRobert. Then came the address of the afternoon by Captain Gillanders, D.F.C. . He said that the eleventh of Novem- ber was no longer called Armistice Day but Remembrance Day by our Canad- ian Parliament, as being a better ex- pression of the true meaning of the occasion. The Hag outside the school was a symbol of.our liberty and of the great British traditions recalled es- pecially to our minds on Remembrance Day. The poppy, had been exalted from a despised position to a precious symbol of the red blood of our Canadian man- hood spilt on Flanders' Fields. The flower of forgetfulness had become the flower of remembrance. The impressiveservice was concluded by a solo, The Boys of the Old Brig- ade, sung 'by .Mr. Archie McCulloch, Mr. E. W. G. Quantz, accompanist. THE CANADIAN SPIRIT By E. G. JARMAIN It pervades our fair Dominion from Cape Race to Nootka Sound, from bleak Hudson's Bay to the smiling Great Lakes, this Canadian spirit, that ties our hearts with a band of patriotic love which naught can sever. On the mountain trails of the glorious Rockies, in the harvest fields of the broad prairies amid the forest hosts of the Laurentians or in the fisheries of the Maritimes, still the spirit that is Canada prevails, the dominant sentiment of every Canadian. It inspires men to the execution of the bravest of brave deeds and to the establishing of the highest of high ideals. The polar explorer, risking his life that we Canadians may know more of our country, is actuated by the same pulse of patriotism that moves the soul of the doctor, risking his life by exposing it to dread disease that we Canadians may live to do something for Canada. We read but lately the tale of the steadfast devotion to duty that kept a trooper of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on the staff of the Communist party for nine years, an unsuspected agent of the Canadian government. Nine long years of perpetual risk and of unwearied. waiting for the proof his commanding officer needed to wipe from the face of Canada's history the stain this anti-Canadian party had placed thereon, was the toll his duty demanded. Yet his spirit' guided him through. He is an outstanding example of the Canadian spirit as it is manifest today. You may read these lines, and, per- chance, you may say to yourself: I shall never get an opportunity to dis- play my spirit of patriotism. Nothing that will ever happen to me will make it my duty to sacrifice myself for my country. But you will be wrong. Some day, in some way, you will- be tested, and do not let it be said of you that you failed to pass the acid test of patriotic sacrifice that' reveals one's true worth as a Canadian. , C ' I
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Page 69 text:
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C. LORACLE 35 AUTUMN SUNSET Changing, rose deepens into crimson- A gold and blue symphony of color, Tints indescribable, pale green and saphron, - A - b Just begutyi expressed in the glow of the west, . . A n tze sunset. ' ' From the crest of a hill, a high hill, A Through a jine, black network of branches. 'T 4 . .1 1 Fanning your cheek, a breeze, sweet and chill, ' All alone too, is the best way to view A The sunset. - N . A Fading, all tlze glory ofthe sky, W f11B As a fair cheek fades before death ,' Darkness deepens, begins to intensify, Night comes with a rush, breaking the hush Of the sunset. . -Jean Phillips TWILIGHT Deepening, fall the shadows, that flicker to and fro, Hastenwing go the people, through softly falling snow, And as the darkness gathers, creeping o'er the light, All the homes are busy, preparing for the night. I -Mary Vanderheiden. MY DREAMS O God, assail these castles of my strength, Throw down my walls and all the windy towers, Those that I builded in my golden hours A While sand on sand poured out at idle length ,' Shake of my bulwarks in a thunderous heap, Crack of my banner from its straining staff, Give me to hear the wind's derisive laugh, As through my broken archways he shall sweep. O let oblivion, like a falling rain, Descend upon my visions overnight, Lest I, deluded in their glamour bright, Should bar my gates and close my portals vain, And in these empty rooms of my delight Pile some imagined treasure from Thy sight. -Annie Vahalla Dodds.
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