Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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THE VOYACEUR tried that. Every demagogue of history has gained his mob following by promising that he has the answers. Rather,- 6'I will not say to you: This is my way, walk in it, For I do not know your way Or where th-e Spirit may call you. It may be to paths I have never trod, Or ships on the sea Leading to unimagined lands afar, Or haply to a star! lust this I'll say- I know for very truth, there is a way for each to walk A right for each to choose A truth to usefv In spite of the fact, however, that we cannot give exact advice about the future, there are general principles, there is a general direction, there are lessons that can be learned from the past. Someone, I think it was George Bernard Shaw, said that Wllhe only thing man learns from history is that man doesn't learn from history! I believe, though, that we can and do learn some things. I lVIany of us have learned that the only reward for successfully completing one task is that there is another and a tougher one to do! As, for instance, a student going ,through a mathematics exercise knows that each successive problem will be a bit harder than the last! Robert Louis Stevenson said, 'GTO travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive-and true success is to labour. Does it sound discouraging? No one knows how little a college degree means except the person who has one. If of any use, it is merely an invitation to further, more continued, more protracted effort. It is of the essence of life, it is of the essence of common sense, that We should early learn that it is thus with all life. We plan Utopias but we never reach them. The fun of life is in the struggle-the effort to transform the bad to good, the good to better, the better to an ever-illusive. ever-changing, ever-alluring, impossible best. Perhaps there is too much talk these days of security, of freedom from want. I wonder if we really desire a world devoid of all effort, all struggle? A world of physical comfort in which the simplest tasks are performed by pressing buttons or arranging mirrors-in which we gradually lose the use of our limbs while our brains become absorptive sponges for the drivel of a sponsored radio program instead of creative organs in a marvellously sensitized physical body? A man's reach should exceed his grasp-else what's a heaven for?,' 23

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THE VOYACEUR Tl-Ili TDMUIQIQCWS THAT SING Text of the Commencement Address given by the headmaster at Cran- brook School, Michigan, on lane 8, 1946, reprinted by permission of Cranbrook Alumni News. IT WAS IN MARCH, 194.3 that Mr. P. J. Philip, for many years the Ottawa correspondent of the New York Times, told the students of Queen's University in Kingston, of an incident of the war then still in progress. The incident was so striking that I have taken the liberty of using it as my theme. lt occurred in the Paris prison. of Cherche-Midi where Gabriel Peri, a French Communist deputy, was a prisoner of the Nazis. Informed that he was to be shot as a hostage the following day, he sat down and wrote this farewell: 4CThe prison chaplain has just come to tell me that I shall be shot to- morrow morning. I should like my friends to know that I have been faithful to my lifelong ideal. I should like my fellow-countrymen to know that I am dying that France may live. I have made a last examination of my conscience and am satisfied. If I had to begin all over again I would travel the same road. In a few hours I am going out to prepare the tomorrows that singf' The phrase was in Frenchzi ale 'uais preparer tout a Flieare les lendemains qui chantent. Adieu et que vice la F rancef' wllhe tomorrows that sing. What a lovely phrase it is-what a lovely ideal of life it presents-gallant and joyous! And the man who wrote it was to be shot in the morning along with the others-some of them Com- munists like himself, some of them members of political parties with differ- ent ideas as to how the world should be organized, some of them believers, some of them free-thinkers. But when they faced that Nazi firing-squad together, they died singing the Marseillaise: Hfflllons enfants de la Patric- le jour de gloire est arrive? Your headmaster has done me the honor of asking me to deliver your Convocation address. I take it, however, not as any tribute to myself as an individual, but rather as a recognition of the affection that you, here, hold toward Canada-and the relationships that for over I25 years have existed between our two countries, yours so large and so powerful fone of the two titans of the world todayl, and mine, relatively so much smaller and less powerful. I presume that my task today is to try to give to you who are leaving this beautiful place, who I hope will have many tomorrows ahead of you, some guidance for the road that lies ahead. How can I? How can any man give advice on the exact road ahead? Who can be so clever as to give you the chart or the blueprint of the new world, or the road that leads to it? Remember this: Any man who tries to tell you that he has the answers to all the problems that lie ahead is a liar! Every demagogue of history has 22

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THE VOYAGEUR I cannot think of Paradise a place Where men go idly to and fro, With harps of gold and robes that shame the snow, With great wide wings that brightly interlace W heneler they sing before the Master's face- Within a realm where neither pain nor woe, Nor care is foundg where tempests n-ever blowg Where souls with hopes and dreams may run no race. Such paradise were but a hell to meg Devoid of all progression, I should rot, Or shout for revolution, wide and far. Better some simple task, a spirit free To act along the line of self forgot- Or help God make a blossom or a star. or this: ulnto the Sunsetl' Let me die working. Still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone! Clean to its end, swift may my race be run. No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirkingg Let me die working! Let me die, thinking. Let me fare forth still with an open mind, Fresh secrets to unfold, .new truths to find. My soul undimmed, alert, no question blinking Let me die, thinking! Let me die laughing, No sighing o'er past sins, they are forgiven. Spilled on this earth are all the joys of heaven, Let me die laughing! That may seem like small comfort, but it is the best philosophy I can give you! It is the secret of the gay, the happy, the joyous, the gallant attitude to life. I happen to be an admirer of your late President. Of all the stories about him there is none that I like better than this: Mr. Roosevelt was speaking with Dr. Peabody, who asked his erstwhile student if it was hard work being President. President Roosevelt replied, HYes, it's very hard work, but it's great funlw Yes, it's great fun-always looking ahead and working for the tomorrows that sing. And I can assure you that it is also great fun to have a task to do, a goal to strive for. I suppose on this occasion it is inevitable that we should look back. After all, ulVlemories are given us that we should have roses in Decemberf, And I have no doubt that you who are graduating today wfill' find that there are some moments that will stand out in your memories: Your arrival 24