Mission High School - Mission Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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THE M1ss1oN NSI' IQ!!-1 Iilfightl IN THE MORNIN' lt's good to be out in the mornin' When the air is crisp and cool, When the day in its glory is dawnin' And sadness is left for the fool. For it's then that the world seems rightest, And it's then that life looks brightest, And it's'then that your heart is lightest, With nature's world for your school. It's good to be out in the mornin' When the birds sing a gay, glad song, VVhen the sleek grey squirrels are scornin' The ground as they hustle along. For it's then that the birds sing clearest, And it's then that the minutes are dearest, And it's then that God seems nearest, And there's naught with the world that is It's good to be out in the mornin' When the dew is a-glint on the trees, When the tall eucalyptus are yawnin', And stretchin' their white limbs in ease. For it's then that the hours are fleetest, And the trees and the How'rs are neatest, And it's then that they smell the sweetest, As they scent each fresh, pungent breeze. lt's good to be out in the mornin' When God comes into his due, When a jewel each leaf is adornin'. And the sky is the clearest blue. For it's then that the world is greenest, And it's then that the world is cleanest, And your zest for life is keenest, And your soul is born anew. wrong DOUGLAS MELVILLIQ CONNIEI LY

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M1ss1oN HIGH SCHOOL itat milk HIS FIRE PICTURE For a long time the Major had sat in his father's lap in the great armchair before the library fire, watching the fire-pictures in the glowing coals. Only four summers had passed over his curly head and yet from as far back as he could remember, he had sat each night in the big roomy chair, to be told one of the many stories that his father had in store for him. Often and often, while sitting there, he would see many dream faces where the red coals glowed, and the blue and white and the red fairies danced. Nearly always, however, when the dream faces came he would see in the fire the same beautiful girlish face that he knew hung in a great frame in his father's room, for many a time had he tiptoed softly upstairs and gazed in tender awe at his mother's picture. He but vaguely remembered the time when everything in the great house was silent and still and people went slowly and softly about, as though afraid some one would hear them and people talked in whispers, always in whispers as though some one in the dark hall were listening. This was all he remembered, except that when his father was quiet and said nothing the, Major knew that he, too, was seeing the fire-picture, where the firelight framed it in the glowing grate. For a long time neither had spoken, for the Major was looking at his favorite fire-picture and his father said: Do you want to hear a true story, 'Major' ? Truly real ? Yes, truly real, and the Major stretched his legs toward the fire, for somehow the truly real stories seemed always the best, and con- tentedly sighed as his father began: A long time ago, 'Major,' before you used to come and sit with me to watch the fire fairies, I used to sit with some one else, while you were upstairs fast asleep in the nursery bedroom. For many and many an hour we would sit here, and talk, and always we talked of you-always of you- I and your mother. . My mother, said the Major, with a long breath, his eyes on the fire-picture again. We would speak of the time when you would grow up to be strong and brave and handsome, what you would do when you were a man and how proud we would both be of you. It was then, when you first began to walk, that we called you 'Major' and all the while, as we spoke, the fire fairies danced and played and her eyes, like yours were brown and shining. And then there came a time, and the two big arms drew the Major closer, when I was alone-alone with the fire fairies and listened to the doctor's feet above me, for your mother was sick and they would not let INinel