Macomb High School - Spiderweb Yearbook (Macomb, IL)

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May you give men a chance in your generation To say you did much to advance our nation. Truly, working for self is a grief causing way To spend a life passing so quickly away Hut great the satisfaction to yourself and another. If you have been to some one as though a brother. If a load has been lifted, or some happiness given, because to do good you each have striven. When each girl, who added one to our number, lias decided her course in life. And each young man has grown quite serene, Battling nobly with every day’s strife; When the hand of time has hurried us on 'Till we’ve reached what we now call “The Future. And we’ve stopped at the close of the day yet to come To say to ourselves. “Is it done? When we think of the greatness we wished to achieve. As the web of school life we started to weave; If. then, a weak place in the threads be found, Don’t let the whole web sitik down to the ground. But strengthen the weakness bv adding a thread, K’cn if on thorns you are called to tread : For tho we would like if this life were all joy, We must expect to have our share of alloy. But let us refrain from these thoughts of the future. And call to mind days that are past. Four lovelv Autumns we’ve come back with pleasure To take up anew our task : To study some and recite a great deal. But more to enjoy each other. Thru four winters' snows we have come and gone. Till our lives have grown together. Till Shakespeare and Virgil have come to be ours. And the present is linked with the past. Four budding Springs we’ve beheld from these windows. But this one, O, “Tens. is the last. ()ur parting at last is near at hand : Soon we'l have had our last joy and strife: Soon we'll have sung our last song As students in High School life. ALICE IREXE CHAPMAN, - i? -

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Prophesy for the Class of 1910 e ®06 C o 1 am sitting alone in the twilight; the air is warm; the katydids chirr to each other and occasionally a bullfrog chugs from the steamy marsh close by. The window is open, and the soft air blowing through rhe flowers brings a balm for the cares which fill the mind of one who has access to that mighty realm, the Future. Slowly, as the darkness creeps toward me. I feel a forgetting, a sinking come over me. and realize that on this evening it is to be granted me to make a revelation to some weary souls, perhaps to cheer them on the way. The katydids still chirr and the frogs complain, but they, with other earthly sounds are infinitely far away. 1 search about for the knowledge of what or whom I am to see, and finally the answer comes, still through the mists surrounding me, The Class of 1910, Macomb High School.” I stretch, open my eyes, and with a start look downward: there is the mighty world lying in approaching darkness. Suddenly innumerable lights blaze up and all is distinct before me. Along the corridor of a stately college are trooping crowds of students. At the door of one of the rooms, bowing, smiling, or turning with a pleasant word, is Mrs. Arie Kenner X----. now wife of the president of this college. Me is by her side, tall and d: nified : I pause to speak, but the fortunes of this fickle realm leave me no moment for greeting. Instead. 1 find myself with Miss Xella Provine, who is so surrounded with piles and piles of manuscript that she is oblivious of my presence. She has just published the seventh volume of her latest book. Oh! what is this bright light? It seems to come from a school-looni. Yes, it is a night school. At the desk sits a woman, very, ery straight, and tall and angular: glasses perched astride her nose heighten the professional air. Why can't I remember? Oh. yes— Mary Van Etten, to be sure. Who else would devote herself to such an enterprise, so worthy and yet so difficult, of teaching those who toil, toil, toil. May she be blessed in her work! Farther to the south, drawn by the sound of stentorian eloquence, 1 look into a church. There is Harold McKee delivering an address that might well make the shades of Spurgeon envious. Not far away, in an Elysian rose garden, wanders Mrs. Alice Chapman P-------, still composing those incomparable poems of hers. - 21 -