Lowell High School - Lowellian Yearbook (Lowell, IN)

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' Page 16 The Lowell Our Influence We scatter seeds with careless hand And think we ne’er shall see them more; But for a thousand years Their fruit appears In weeds that scar the land Or healthful store. The deeds we do, the words we say, Into nowhere seem to fleet; We count them ever past, We think they will not last— But on Judgment Day They and we shall meet. God judges you for years gone by, For the love of brethren dear; Keep, then, the one true way In work or play, Lest from the sky Their cry of woe ye hear. —Charles Buchanan. zJl Flower’s Fife A tiny flower bloomed one morn And lifted its face to the smiling dawn. A sunbeam chanced to be dancing by And teased, “May I on your soft petals lie?” And a dewdrop whispered from the grass, “May I to your slender stalk hold fast?” The flower said to both, “You may.” And its life was sweet and full that day. And when dusk drew near and it closed to dream, It thanked the dew and the warm sunbeam. And we humans also have need of those two— Smiles are the sunbeams, and tears the dew. —Kate Mercado.

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for June 1922 ■Page 1 5 Too J ate The last of the strains were played, The deep-bent head arose, The nervous hand was stayed From rend’ring something more. The fiddler raised his eyes, And gazed down at the throng. Arose from them full many sighs, But such were they that meant no wrong. The fiddler smiled. Two score years Had he worked and prayed for this night, Two score years, amid hopes and fears, Had he tried, without success’ light. He faltered, he swayed, his head was reeling now. The throng gasped, and arose From the many, many rows. But ’twas too late. The life Of the fiddler freely flowed. His success had come too late. —Philip Mathias. Now Spring is here! And I would I were as wild and free As Spring’s sweet self that shyly calls and beckons me. I want to climb the hills a-followed by my dog; I want to splash in streams, just jumping log to log; I want to amble slowly through a moist, damp glade Sniffing pungent scents of Springtime in its shade; I long to feel a keen-edged breeze caress my cheek And in my tingling ears sweet murmurs speak. Alone? My dog’s my pal, and whisp’ring breezes, too, And busy, cheerful birds—why these alone will do! Now Spring is here! Oh, how I long to be as free As that fair spirit calling earth to life, and me! —Florence Wilson.

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for June 1922 Tageij A Whim of the Gods ' SING T’SING sat at the edge of the little pond in the garden and gazed sadly into the water. All about her was laughter and merri¬ ment; for the Feast of the Lanterns would soon be at hand—her mother and her attendants were decorating the house with flowers, the garden with gayly colored lanterns. The little shrine was filled with flowers, and large sticks of punk burned before the Altar of Buddha. But T’sing T’sing did not hear their merry laughter ringing through the grove, she did not see the gayly colored lanterns swinging gently in the breeze—she was very unhappy. She heaved a little sigh, several tears rolled down her cheeks and slipped unnoticed into the water. In a secluded part of the garden, not far from the little pond, was a small gate hidden beneath a mass of vines. Someone was knocking at the gate. T’sing T’sing cast a furtive glance about her, and after having assured herself that no one was near, she jumped up lightly and running to the gate opened it to admit a young Chinese boy, who entered cautiously. T’sing T’sing, who could control herself no longer, burst into tears and unfolded to him her grief. It appeared that Ho Ling, her father, was under financial obligations to Chang Chow Fu, a very cruel and powerful Mandarin. When the time came for him to pay the money the Mandarin would not accept it, saying that Ho Ling might cancel the debt by giving him his only daughter, T’sing T’sing. Ho Ling promptly agreed, and it was arranged that the marriage should take place after the Feast of the Lanterns. It was useless to plead with her father—the agreement had been made. Ling Chee promised to help her. Fie would arrange for their flight together. In the meantime she must promise to be happy and trust all to him. T’sing T’sing dried her tears and promised. Ling Chee bade her goodbye, slipped out by the little gate and slowly turned his steps toward home. His heart was very heavy. His father, Ma Shue, was very poor and weak. The Mandarin was very rich and powerful—with one move of his little finger he could easily crush Ling Chee and his father. It was useless to pit his strength or match his wits against the mighty Mandarin’s—yet something must be done in order to save the beautiful T’sing T’sing. Ling Chee reached his house, ate his rice in silence, and when he had finished, he told Ma Shue that he was going for a walk. He started down the road in the direction of the palatial residence of Chang Chow Fu. Chang Chow Fu was smoking his pipe contentedly in his luxurious surround¬ ings. A cruel smile curved his lips as he thought of T’sing T’sing the beautiful. He thought of her olive skin, her beautiful brown almond eyes, her coral lips, her raven black hair, with a flower tucked here and there, her slim figure, beautiful hands and her tiny well-shaped feet. He had first seen her in the garden as he had passed Ho Ling’s house in his magnificent palanquin, and had determined that she should belong to him. The marriage would soon be at hand; he was content.