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Page 61 text:
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For-Get- Me-Nots God' s Love By the shady stream they grow He was a carpenter, On it's mossy brink Who toiled for God above. Forget-me-nots like little girls But little did he ever think In dresses blue and pink. That God would him so love. To send His only Son, Our Lord I'1l pick a little handful For him to guard. Mary, dear, for you They'll match the color of your eyes I am a carpenter, They are so very blue. Who carves my life away. But will I ever, ever know Ronda Bruno, '54 How God, Who knows my ways, Could give His only Son, Our Lord For me to love? Ann DeMars, '51 It if lk It li Peace on Earth The silence of the beautiful chapel is a sharp contract with the noisy world outside. It is as if you have entered into an entirely new world. There is one lone figure in the chapel. She is a sister. Her calm face plainly shows her love of God. Strange how it reminds you of the Agony in the Garden, when Christ knelt alone, too. Someone enters the chapel and brings you back to the present. You slowly leave the chapel and return to the everyday world, where you look forward to the time when your soul will be at peace, only much more completely than for those few moments. Jewel Smith, ' 53 It It It It It Love Lily Love is great as it can be Lily is sleeping, Because great love made you and me. ln her bed. And love yom' neighbor always true Soon she'll be peeping, And right in turn Our Lord loves you. Her little head, Yes, love is great Above the ground, For God did say, In time to say, Don't love too late Have a Happy Easter Day. Love all the way. Phyllis Longava, '51 Joyce Rowgo, '55
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Page 60 text:
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Unto the Least of These . . I saw Him hanging on the Cross Bleeding, bruised and weak. Tears filled my eyes: 'Why are You there? . . . And Then I heard Him speak. Snow 'Why do you want to take Me down? 'Twas you who hanged Me here You shuddered at My blackened face And you did not want Me near. I offered you My self, My love But you just passed Me by. I was black and you were white You said that I must die. You pushed Me in another world Where only black folk walk. You whipped Me with your cruel words You giggled, laughed and talked, And paved My road to Calvary While I carried your cross of hate. You pounded nails into My hands: The stigma of My fate. No, you ca.nnot take Me down, My child, 'Twas you who hanged Me here: I WAS BLACK AND YOU WERE WHITE AND YOU DIDN'T WANT ME NEAR. Patricia Caspar, '51 lk It lk It lk lk is gone and nowhere around. Rich green grass is springing from the groxmd. The sun is shining bright and gay, Throughout the whole, the big, long day. People, ambitious and in great haste. For there is much work and no time to waste. What is it! What is itl' we ask . . . Why the coming of Spring. Spring at last! Diane Goethals, ' 52 lkllllklkii How Come? A sad lament written one lonely Friday Night. Why must love forever pass me by, Why can't I have my share? Why must I sit along the sidelines, And never be ensnared? Oh, why can't I enjoy my youth, Along with all the rest? Why can't I be happy And do what I'd like best? Why is it that I must watch, The others have their fun? Why can't I ever, ever catch, Some parents' manly son? Suds Smith, '50 Silence A hypnotic silence stilled the night as time unceasingly, but slowly crept on. It seemed so empty while holding the stillness--just as if the wakening dawn would never portray its beaming radiance over the skies again. The trees swayed rhythmically with the low whining mur- mur of the wind, while crickets with their blythe songs echoed through the darkness as if in answer to some spirit. How good it feels to spend some time away from all others! Tis grand to listen and watch God's wonderful plan. Grace Mary Carman
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Page 62 text:
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A Squirrel Decides A little squirrel looked down from a tree, He decided that the world, he would see. Off on his journey, He started to go, But his feet were tired, so traveling was slow. And in the city. . . I finally made it! The traffic is awful! O, I just hate it! A car whizzed by him, Just missing his tail, The honking horn scared him, and the squirrel turned pale. Pm going home, The squirrel said, 'Right back home, To my soft warm bed. Margaret Kihm, ' 52 Illiillllllili Dream As I sit by my bedroom window this night, And look at the stars shining bright I begin to think about the good God. Who made the sun, the moon, and the sod. And as I contemplate on this subject so vast I fall into a slumber and dream at last. I dream of the goodness of a God so great, Who sent His beloved Son to open Heaven's gate, To open the gates through which all may pass, His Son who is offered by us in the Mass. And as I ponder more on my wonderous dream, I see graces flowing in one endless stream, Flowing into the hearts of the meek and the just There to help all overcome sin and lust. And as my dream slowly fades away, I can hear the voices of angels at play, And away in the distance the saints are all singing, And so the Heaven's with God's praises are ringing. Margaret Murphy, 51 The True Cross A cross is standing on a hill So very crudely madeg It's standing everlasting still Around it sunlight fades. It's hard and rugged and on the bar His blood in scarlet glows. And as the earth of light turns dark And whirls of wind begin to blow, Christ dies. John and Mary standing there Beneath the cross so sad, And soft her whispers are and low, They took from me my only Son l-le died for men today. And though so many years have gone Men still walk blindly by, Oh, may their eyes be raised to see Salvation, Christ upon the tree. Barbara Metzen, ' 51
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