Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 11 text:

Rev. C. Rushman, S. J. Rev. T. Moylan, S. J. Faculty Rev. J. O'Neill, S. J. Rev. G. Hoffmann, S. J. Rev. E. Healey, S. J. Rev. G. MacGuigan, S. J. Mr. J. McMahon, C. A. Rev. C. Kanavy, S. J. Rev. F. Noll, S. J. Rev. E. O'Connor, S. J. Mr, F. Guadagni, B. Eng. Mr. L. Bessner, B. Comm., C. A. Mr. E. Whitehall, C. A. Mr. L. Levi, B. Comm., C. A. 9

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Rev. W. McDonnell, S. J. Rev. H. O’Donnell, $. J. Rev. D. Asselin, S. J. Rev. S$. Drummond, S. J. Rev. A. Graham, S. J. Rev. H. Smeaton, S. J. Rev. H. Phelan, S. J. Rev. W. Connor, S. J. Rev. L. Stanford, S. J. Rev. H. Wardell, S. J. Mr. J. Buell, M. A. Mr. K. Ekler, Ph. D. Mr. F. Tomscha, M. Se. Mr. F. Hayes, B. Sc. Mr. A. Prillo, B. Sc., M. A.

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10 S - Coy of the Hilllern Generation “A stillborn motive is a useless thing . . .’—Rev. H. Phelan, S. J. The sunburnt drifts of dying snow Flee the fringes of the season’s flow, And idle, moulting mud melts through Our rancid winter residue; Here, this sometime waking from eternal sleep Vowed the soul her oath must keep To reconstruct the idols of enlightened youth, To resurrect the phoenix of immortal truth. Here, from this desert of decaying earth, Weaves the mind its image of some virgin birth; And prompts the ear to hark the flight Of muted voices in a stillborn night; But just a whimper on the wind is heard, The distant mocking of the chosen word Whose cry of lamentation echoes out To halt the flow, to freeze the soul in doubt. Here, from this springtime spasm of aborted thought, Come we now to reap the ruin wrought. Heard we once our prophets enigmatic; Knew we then the truth agnostic. So the mind no longer mutters Charming chants in standard stutters; Only children know that church-bells sing The hymn once hidden in the breath of spring. Insensate sitting in a tactile world, We thought to find the Rose unfurled, We lived in darkness in a desert land; And now we languish on the burning sand. And every conclusion Is merely illusion; And every defender Is forced to surrender. Into this half-way season, came we once to dream, To glimpse a fleeting vision of the Maker's scheme... We come alone in penance now to pray; For prayer would seem the only way That the heart’s strain in the mina’s strife Is reconciled in exile from this death called life. Bren Foley ’59