Ridgewood High School - Arrow Yearbook (Ridgewood, NJ)

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Arrowhead The Loom A weaver of talent, with care and deft chill, Iinaginec hic picturef with thought, Each thread if felected and twifted until A weaving of heauzy if wrought. An intricate pattern of Jtar-.rtudded night, The nioon crowed with fhadowf of douhtj A dark hidden path and a Jtreani of delight, And oak trees, tall, stately, devout. A hottonilefc pit in the rnidcrt of a grove, The depth plled with voluinef of hateg A nest ofyoung hirds in a tree top ahove, Full eager, no patiente to wait. A weaver of Jkill, on the great loorn of life, Mun' outline his purpofe and aint, Each thread of experience, each cord of ftrife If weaving the weaver hir name. Helen H amen Page S even

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THE ARROW BENEDICT MCGRATH WINIFRED MITT,AG ALICE WHITE JAMES BOLDT Page Six

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THE ARROW KK The Graduation PROSPER was the fifth wise-man. With his customary sagacity he has avoided all publicity of a sort until this moment, despite the lesser fortune of his colleagues. It is on record that when the late General Wallace and the later, our contemporary, Mr. Van Dyke called on Prosper he was not at home, Prosper was, is, and will be omnipotent, omniscient, and omni- present. He has always been with us, has ever dwelt amongst us, has never been far absent from the platitudes that depute the sexton's fer- rule to prod impious ears. For Prosper was a man like no other. Let us hush it forth: He was a Perfect Man. This particular example of Prosper dwelt on a cliff overlooking the sea. It was a drab existence that the wisest of the wise patched with his mind of minds. From the morning when the sun rose steaming out of the water, dripping still with moisture, until it sank again into the horizon, leaving the sky burnt red over its escape, Prosper squatted before his lonely den and thought, and thought, and thought. The wise-man might have admitted that he never, never solved anything, only, that he thought, and thought, and thought. One night Prosper had a visitor-a visitor, mind you, where you, and I hope I, might have had a friend. This man came in the night, for he loved the night and loved to explore the skies. There was hardly an aster in the firmament that he could not identify, and his long neck crooked back from the upward cast of his eyes. Prosper and he walked about in the woods. It was not that the sage could be indulgent at times, but he felt that he needed the exercise. After a moment the visitor, holding his eyes glued to the heavens, stumbled and fell, not easily, on the ground. Wordlessly he picked himself up and returned his gaze to the eyes of the pitchy vault. Three times this incident occurred, and at last Prosper spoke, choosing his 'words carefully so as never to hem or haw. Why do you not keep your eyes on the ground? Your shins would probably not resent their co-operation P The stranger smiled and nodded No! with emdphasis, and with his arms he said, Would these two eyes suck splen or from the stars unto the end of time, there would be more to replenish it. Prosper harshened at this gentle opposition and went away and left the watcher. Page Eight