Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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22 TH E VOYAGE UR Build me a Vxforld, Said God, Not with a navy's strife, Nor with a host in arms, Compassing death, not life. Build me a World, said God, Out of man's fairest dreams, Heaven must be its dome Lighted by prophet-gleamsg Justice shall be the stones On which my world shall rise: Truth and Love its arches, Gripping my ageless skies. Out of dreams, on the earthly sod, Build me a World, Said God. Special Speakers . During the year the School has heen fortunate in having many outside speakers of note, including: Prof. Willson Woodside-on An Outsiders View of Germany. Victor Lange, Lecturer in German at University of Toronto, and Fritz Winter, exchange student from Germany, hoth spoke on their native country. Prof. Cano, of the University of Toronto, talked on Spain.'l Prof. N. A. Mackenzie+on Present Wtirld Conditions Miss Emily Guest addressed the school on her visit to Russia. Miss jenny Brown fhy courtesy of the National Council of Education spoke on 'kThe Shetland Islands, the lecture heing heautifully illustrated by her own films. Also hy arrangement with the National Council of Education we had the privif lege of an illustrated lecture on England hy Capt. A. Wilson, M.C. Mr. V. Soames spoke on conditions in Canadian Penitentiaries. Mr. Merwyn Marks discussed Left Political lvlovementsll

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TH E VOYAGE UR 21 the regal robes which he wears. Throughout his reign he has identified himself with the best interests of all his people, and in this fact we rejoice. Man is made for loyalty, and the celebrations this year are a natural and worthy expression of that quality. Man craves some object or ideal which he can revere and admire-to which he can commit himself unreservedly. Like all man's powers, however, this deep feeling may be used for unworthy ends. It is a truism to remind my readers that war makes its appeal, not to the baser instincts of human life, but to the highest idealisms of youthgto man's regard for love, honour and justice. Recently many older people were shocked by the result of the debate in the Oxford Union on the subject of fighting for King and Country. It was sugf gested that modern youth was disloyal. This expression is not disloyalty, but it illustrates rather a conflict between two loyalties. Whenever two loyalties conflict it is necessary that man should cleave to the higher. The Founder of Christianity answered that question by saying that we should render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is Gods In Trafalgar Square there stands a monument to Edith Cavell. On that monument one message stands clear. It is the sentence uttered by the nurse on the eve of her death. Patriotism is not enough. There is a higher loyalty than any owed to an earthly sovereign, no matter how worthy. It is the loyalty that is owing to those ideals,-to those deathless values that alone give enduring greatness to any civilization. In spite of the glories of the present reign we cannot be oblivious to the curse of war, poverty and unemf ployment. We all have our responsibility to wipe out those curses from our common life and we respect the leadership that His Majesty has given in worthf while and humanitarian causes such as the housing campaign. To abolish these curses from human life requires our deepest loyalty. It may necessitate the facing of radical changes in our present social and economic order. It will certainly require sacrifice and courage, but if we are to be true to the highest loyalties of which man is capable, we must be ready to exercise that courage and face the sacriice. Vv'e are happy in the British Commonwealth of Nations to be able to say that we gladly render to Caesar what is Caesars, but if our Commonf wealth is to endure, it must be on a basis of its respect for a loyalty which is always higher. Build me a House, Said God, Not of cedarfwood or stone, Where at some altarfplace Men for their sins atone. To me, your only sin Is to build my House too small, Let there he no dome To shut out the sky, Let there be no cumbering wall. Build me a House, a Home, In the hearts of hungering men! Hungering for the bread of hope, Thirsting for faith, yearning for love, In a world of grief and pain. Build me a House!

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'THE VOTAGEUR 23 The Pipe . . . . . THE MANTLE'CLOCK above the friendly fire obediently struck eight, as one long used to the habit of its owner, who en' tered now clad in his slippers and his smoking jacket. Shutting the door caref fully against draughts, he moved toward his pipe cabinet, dragging his seventy years in every shuffling step, a man as mellow as the chimes that had greeted his arrival. A man whose face had seen his dreams and friends pass through death to memory and recorded each transition with a line. His business now was to choose a pipe from the many that hung upon the rack, silently intif mate as old comrades. The one he def cided upon rivalled its owner in years, its flavour a subtle congregation of arof matic ghosts of many tobaccos that had haunted its charred bowl during the past half century. Sinking into his chair and the red glow of the fireflight, the old man paused before filling his pipe to ponder over the little jade Hgure carved on its face. She who had given him that pipe had said that the small figure bore a magic power-Eline, fifty years a memory, he smiled and the hand that held the match above the curling tobacco leaves trembled. The old man settled back into his chair whose curves, fitted by Time to every peculiarity of his body, caressed him now. The smoke climbed over the bowl of his pipe and downwards to brush against the little jade Hgureg then, curling, rose in idle ribbons ceilingfwards. The old man watched the smoke ffff Eline! She stood there in the doorway, looking as he remembered her so many years ago, when she had sailed away to China and that strange disease that had stolen her life and left him a perennial bachelor. L'You entered so softly, my dear, I scarcely heard you. B. A. Wallace She smiled, and from the chair there rose, not the old man, but a youth who strode toward his love and led her to a seat beside the Hreg conscious of her ling' ering jasmine perfume that tinged the air. She told him of the little things that had been part of her day, about her dog and her sewing and the trouble she was having with the flowers on the cushion she was making for Granny. He listened impatiently, eager to tell her of his mightier thoughts. And so, in turn, she listened while he presented, in the glowing phrases of youth, all the marf vels of his dreams and his ambitions. Here was desire for fame and joy and the world awaiting to satisfy itg here was youthful scorn for sorrow and failure. And I will write such books, Eline, as will live alone above the literary rub' bish and garbage of this age. Wheii these latter have been long consigned to the critic's dust bin my books will still be discussed above the dowager's tea' cups and wrangled over in the crazy light of Bohemian rendezvous. As a modest man, Eline, I tell you this be' cause I know that you understand and believe me. She nodded and thought how fine his fair hair looked, sparkling about the temples in the fire light, like little points of bronze. He talked on of the distinction he would gain as an author, and of how they would live happily in the pleasant glow of his fame. Now and again she would find him questioning her with the earnest seriousness of his twenty years and she would reply absentlyg happy that her hand lay in his and that they were together. As midnight came on she left her chair and moved to go, her lover follow' ing her. Pausing by the open door she freed a rose from her hair and handed