Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW 11 Rev. В. CLORAN, S.J Rev. J. HOWITT, S.J. Rev. F. J. MACDONALD, SJ. Rev. J. HOLLAND, S.J. Rev. L. NELLIGAN, S.J. The Prince’s Bounty I know not if she dreamt; it well may be It happens thus, and each revolving year— (So seeming long because replete with joy)— High festival resounds o’er Heaven’s hills On Christmas midnight. For the Christ is seen A Babe in Mary’s arms, and in her eyes The rapture of that hour in Bethlehem When at her breast lay first in smiling sleep Our GOD,—made Man to win for us delight Unending, fathomless.—Then every Saint Comes to the Babe in turn, and mercy asks On some poor toiler of the earth, near-lost In sinful quicksands. As His tender Heart Each wish fulfils, a song of victory Re-echoes through the courts,—and mightier grows Hurled back from golden turrets and jasper walls. (This Agnes saw, and lately told to me— Agnes a lowly maiden on whom lies The weary care of a pauper home, bereft Of mother's help or mother's comforting.) She sang the while with the Seraphim. At length Her turn had come to whisper to the Child Her wishes. Stepping from out the shining host,

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10 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW towards its attainment. Your classical course is intended to make yours, in the words of the old Loyola Prospectus, a well rounded character. You may not become a scholar, a savant, an eminent scientist, a famed litterateur—in fact your name may never be mentioned among the illuminati—but you can and you must be- come a Catholic gentleman. You must leave the college halls with a love for the better things of life, a taste refined and free from grossness. Your thoughts must be elevated and serene.—Still you must not forget that the intelligence that soars on high in proud aloofness from the interests of human kind is like the aviator who finds the chill of death in the rarefied at- mosphere of the clouds. Your heart, un- selfish and pure, must lend its warmth to the workings of your mind. You must, in a word, be practical idealists. Unswerv- ing in your principles, straightforward and unafraid in their application, gen- uinely sympathetic in all your dealings, you will be, in truth, a Catholic gentle- man. My speech is ended. I yearned for a glimpse into the future. Imagination, her countenance wreathed in smiles, offered to draw aside the veil that hid it from my view. I declined her ser- Rev. E. DE LA PEZA, S.J. Rev. G. BRADLEY, S.J. Rev. ALEX. MACDONALD, S.J. Rev. D. F. MACDONALD, S.J. Rev. LEWIS DRUMMOND, SJ. vice. Fancy is too apt to be creative and to deceive with alluring mirages. Whilst I spoke my refusal, the spirit of prophecy, heaven-sent, stepped forward and spread out before me a scene of enchantment. It looked like a fairy city, built around a cluster of stately structures. From every side came young men with eager step, who fell into groups as they neared the centre of the city. I followed them. I heard the sound of strange tongues. I caught snatches of conversation about law, medi- cine, science, and theology. I could not be back in mediaeval days, in a seat of inter- national learning—the setting was too modern. I looked in bewilderment at my guide. He spoke no word but hurried me along. Soon the vast, artistic buildings, the mecca of those student crowds, broke full upon our view. I could sense the ap- peal of their wide-flung arms. Here was truly the home of knowledge, the sanc- tuary of truth. I raised my eyes to the huge lettering over the central gate. These are the words I read: LOYOLA UNIVERSITY and I whispered fervently: Amen. GERALD С. Murray, C.SS.R. Loyola, В.А. '04.

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12 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW Encouraged by Our Lady's beckoning hand, She knelt ;—but ere “Dear Saviour!” passed her lips, Suddenly changed the scene.—A garret, chill, Low-ceilinged, bare, had hemmed her in, while snow Had drifted through the ill-stuffed window-frame | Upon her cot. She shivered, blessed herself And, sighing, swiftly moved her soul to prayer For her father, who (she feared) in noisy hall His slender purse was emptying for wine. Turning her gaze to where a wooden Cross Gloomed on the white-washed wall—surprised, she thought It larger grew, and brighter—till at last In boundless glory it blazed above the throne Where Jesus lay in Mary's lap.— Now wings Of angels flutter not, nor chant is heard While hushed Heaven hearkeneth to her prayer:— | “Т ask what I have begged for every day, “Dear Saviour, in Communion.—Grant it me! “Бу heavenly joy enraptured, yonder kneels “Му mother, pleading my cause, unwearied as “When first she saw Thy Face ten months ago. “She told me ere she died, ‘Soon, Aggie, soon “Thy father's heart will bitterly deplore $ “ ‘The wrong he has done us in this year of dull 'Oarousing. But another year is passed, — “And, Jesus, Hope is withered in my heart “Unless Thou aid.— Last night, he struck my face “Refusing, though I begged, to feed on Thee “This Christmas morn.—Repenting, hurried words “He spoke, and kissed me; quickly quit our home “And has not yet returned.—But, Lord, he’s good “And loves Thee! Shrivel the luring, lying face “Of wine! Oh, shield him lest the dark abyss “Close o’er him.—Mary, Mother, plead for— Strange !— 4 Her soul yet thrilling, Agnes wanly smiled, Wiping away the tears that burned her cheek. Strange —Yet again she heard the sound of one Who, moaning, wept in bitter woe. Alarmed, She quickly rose and saw beside the bed Her father kneeling.—When he knew she waked :— “Му daughter, Aggie, ill I have treated thee, “My gentle, faithful daughter. . . . But this n'ght Has burst my brutish bonds. . . I left thee, fit “For Heaven or for Hell, ——and Heaven won. . . | “Му soul is healed and shriven. | Јоу, no tongue ` | Of flesh could utter, drenched her heart.—The moon | Burst through the storm-clouds; and its soothing beams Revealed the maid and him, won back from death, Mingling their tears and soundless words. But hark! While night is fleeing at dawn's first assault, O'er snowy mountain-side and sparkling plain The chimes awake the world to Christmas Mass. D. MICHAEL, '22