Roger Bacon High School - Troubadour Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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There Are Many Ways To Be A Spartan

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AN ODE TO A TRAVELER He was upon a long and dusty trek, When he approached a certain stone that marked the culminating polnt of life; And soon the wanton winds dld urge again, To beg the way-wom traveler To hasten Inrther on his lonely way. But faltering and weary from the trall, He laid his tolled body by the side And tell Into a dreamless crlb. And whlle yet In love, and raptured With the wordly scenes and beauty, He passed to peace and eternal rest. Yet after all It may be best, That In the happiest and sunset hour Of all the short and lengthy voyages of life. While eager winds are ldsslng every sail, To dash against an unseen rock And, In an Instant. hear the blllows roar Above a sunken shlp, Impaled on a wretched reel. For whether in the lonely heart of sea Or 'mong the breakers ol the farther shore. Each living soul at last must marl: an end To Its voyage aboard this earthly bark. And as a treasure chest upon a sunken ship Has doomed existence from the start, So have the hours of our life. No matter if they're rich with love And every moment jeweled wlth Jay, A destlned close, a tragedy As sad and deep and dark, As can be woven of the warp and weft or death and mystery. Thle brave and tender man. In every stem of life was oak and rock. But In the sunshine, vlne and Homer. He was a friend to all heroic souls, He climbed the heights and Left all superstitions far below, Whlle on M: forehead fell The golden dawnlng ol the grander day. He loved the beautiful and serene And may with solar, form, and music touched to tear. He sided with the weak and verily believed That happlness was but the only good. That justice was the only worship, That reason was the only torch, Humanity, the only joy, And love the only prlest. He added to the sum of human Jay So Inch. that were each and all, To whom he did come loving serve, To brlng a blossom to his grave. He would assuredly sleep tonight Beneath a wilderness of blooms. Lite is a narrow vale. between Fardlstant peaks nf two eternlties. We strive in vatn To look beyond the helghts, and Cry aloud beneath the solitary sky Ol lonely and obscuring void, Just to receive the echo of our walllng rave. And from the voiceless lips 0f the unreplylng dead, There comes no word,- But In the night of death, Hope sees a star And listening love can hear A rustle of a wing. He who sleeps here, when dylng, Mlstaklng the approach of death For the return of earthly health, Whispered with his latest breath: I'm better noun Let us believe, ln spite of doubts, And tears, and fears. That these dear words are true Of all the countless dead.