Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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CdiiangPB he last gold rays of ev’ning’s setting sun Add lustre to the sky’s pure azure blue ; Fair tokens of another day’s work done, By workers, proud or humble, false or true. And when the last tint fades behind the hill. All Nature slumbers, and the Earth is still. The last dry leaf perched high up in the tree Is downwad hurled by Autumh’s piercing blast ; Sad thoughts come to the mind in reverie Of unreturning days, now long since past. The shriveled leaf, dropped in the tiny rill. Gives certain warning of bleak Winter’s chill. The last small swallow southward wings his flight ; From nest and summer home he flies away. To linger long in tropic climate bright. Till fresh and sw ' eet comes Spring’s inviting day. A change on far and distant shore until Homeward bound, he comes with music shrill. The last breath goes, the soul of man takes flight From Earth’s low habitation to arise To Heavenly homes, ten thousand times more bright, Where friends await, and true love never dies. A change of rest from care, of good from ill. In all eternal mercy, ’tis God’s will. M. C. Sarrison.

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6 a )= ' ! h i i ( 4 k ’Tis not in mortals to command success ; But will do more, Sempronius — we’ll deserve it. — Addison 9

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THE MISSILE Published by the Students of the Petersburg High School Vol. I. MARCH. 1912 nTs of tlje ai wo hours ago it was the most beautiful, calm, peaceful spot in the world. Then, a crystal brook rippled merrily beneath the shelter ing limbs of the primeval forest ; then, the rustling trees cast their graceful shadows upon the sun-flected undergrowth ; and, then, the soft, green, untrodden grass swayed silently to and fro as if keeping time to the songs of the birds. Only two hours ago peace reigned in the woody dell. Now war, destructive war, held sway. The songs of the birds were now supplanted by the sound of arms, the whistling of shells, the rattle of muskets, the shouts of the victors, the cries of the conquered. Amidst the din and uproar, among the bursting shells, whizzing bullets and splintering trees, now in one place, now in another, a man, or rather a youth, rushed up and down the retreating lines, striving in vain to rally his fleeing country- men. He turned his youthful, care-worn face to his men, lifted his left hand and brushed away a streak of blood that was slowly trickling from his bandaged forehead, waved again that sword that had never known defeat, and with tears in his eyes he begged the terror-stricken soldiers to make a stand. A bullet struck him and, with a last wave of his sword, he sank to the earth with a moan. A private leaned over the captain, raising a canteen to the dying officer’s lips. The captain’s eyes slowly opened ; his lips twitched and the private inclined his ear nearer to catch the broken words. As the older man listened, tears dimmed his eyes. Suddenly the cap- tain gave a gasp and clutched at his breast as if to hold within