Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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EDBWHE EFEAT! Thou black and bitter god, on whom ,llt ' ' 'Will But yestermorn I smiled with patron air, My VVhy art thou sent on earth to cause men woe? ' ' . . , VVhat . . . Ironic deity, woulds't hear , My plaint? Thou, thou, who'st caused me all I ' This grief . . . 'T is well. Engage in spiteful scorn Mt fm is quite becomis thy nature. Earnestly, -4 U owever, I sha treat thy words, as if adm' ' In earnest they were uttered. List thee then. Long months of labor, every day of which Taxed sorely both the mind and corporal shell, I consecrated to a worthy end. On this firm base I built a pyramid Of hopes and expectations, and the top I crowned with dreams of honors realized. The fateful day drew close. My heart beat fast, Delirious imaginings near snapt , My o'ertaxed brain . . . Then came the thrice-cursed hour, With thee, thou evil genius, trailing it. BF 1? PF Pk PF if PF :lf Dk Pk God! When I think on't now, vexatious tears Well to my eyes, and fury uncontrolled Takes hold of me. The jests, the taunts, the jeers Of all the world, make mere existence Hell. My heart is sick, my brain benumbed from work And worry . . . Now Defeat, art satisfied That I have cause to scoff ? ,F IK X 41 if FK Pls PF PK Pk What miracle is this? The fiend throws off His Stygian cloak, and lo! a different god Stands in his place: white-robed, impressive, tall, And with a Visage saintly in its kind, Smiling benevolence. The very air, As if it knows his presence, scented seems With myrrh and frankincense . . . But soft- The vision speaks-'fMisfortune, to most men, Is just misfortuneesomething to be cursed- A starting point of vengeance, envy, hate. If purblind men would cease to swear and sigh When conquered by Misfortune, and instead, Essay its brighter side to see, how great Would be their gain! 'Tis unbelievable How quickly one can Hnd this brighter side, And once found then there needs must ope to view The virtuous horde: Compassion, Kindness, Love, And all their fellows. . . . He was gone. . . , My head swam. Now I saw. Defeat was not a curse, it taught By holding up to me my state of mind, Defeated, how to lighten the great weight That lies on one afHietedg by kind words, By sympathy, compassion. . . . For this all, . . . Defeat, I thank thee. GEORGE ROBINSON, '14 22

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, 9 me P M l HE New Lolumbia School of Journalism is swamped with students, wishing to enter. - News Item Seeing that Schools of Journalism are be- coming popular, we hereby consent to run one. Our first lesson is STYLE, and our first model is Burke, the famous example of a clear, lucid style. Burkels unexeelled style may be cultivated ilDur QDUJU Qthunl nf journalism . ' G alt tl , . . Adllialyux in ' IH? i X 1 il' A K 5 L by locking one's self up in a room for a couple of weeks and con- stantly reading such books as the 'tGolden Treasury, the HBook of the Dead, Robbins' Geometry, Lamb's Essays of Elia,'l and the telephone directory. A corpulent unabridged should be consulted frequently with a view towards changing small words into unusual polysyllablcs. An article written according to the foregoing instructions resulted in this: During the course of my matutinal recitations, the pedagogue who instructs me in the noble tongue of the Quirites, summoned me to his august presence, and animadverted compcndiously upon the irrefragable fact that I had not evinced any anomalous transcendency in the studyg indeed, quite the reverse. Being endowed with a fair measure of perspicacity, I most naturally anticipated severe parental objurgation, coupled, perhaps, with subsequent events more dire and mortifying, if I would make known this intelligence at my habitation, so I circumspectly forbore doing so. CThis means that I flunked Latin, and that I didn't tell 'em at home about it, because I thought Ild get a good laying out.j CAuthorls note: To be continued.D CEditor's note: Not to be continued.D morris Should Morris High School be forgot A d e b ht to min Y? n n ver roug 1 The finest school in all the land, The noblest of its kind, It bears a patriot's stamp and name, And pat riots all are we, And loyal to old Morris' fame, Our hearts shall ever be. 21

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lIll 'l' il 'l' ill THE DEATH lf? 'Sill llllmfmll Ilh.m.ll CWith Apologies to Nathcmicl Ilawthornej JUDGE PYNCHEON is sitting in the great ancestral chair looking fixcdly at his heavy watchg but his thoughts are far removed from that ancient timepiece. Can Clifford tell him anything definite about the deeds to those vast, rich lands in the East? If he can wrest this secret from Clifford, how can he best obtain, by fair or foul means, the estate from its present owners? With such great wealth at his disposal will he not be able to bribe the most power- ful politicians in the state? NVill not Governor Pyncheon then become a reality? Finally, how can he get rid of Clifford without drawing the slightest suspicion upon himself? These questions are running through Judge Pyneheonls mind. Suddenly he raises his eyes and strangely enough, they rest upon the portrait of the stern founder of the Pyncheon house. What! is it possible that Judge Pynchcongthe hard, unflinching man, who believes in nothing supcrnaturalfcan it be possible that Judge Pyncheon sees a man, clothed in thc apparel of a laborer, stepping forth from behind the portrait? But look, Judge Pyncheonl The man is approaching you. Nearer and nearer he comesg his lips are moving, f'And God shall give you blood to drinkf' they seem to say. Why do you sit so quietly? Why do you stare so vacantly? He is drawing a long, thin sword froni behind himg he is towering above you! But suddenly he draws back. HAh, God has given him blood to drinkin he mutters as Judge Pyncheon falls forward to the floor. ANNA JOSEPHS-ON, '14. 23