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Page 8 text:
“
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.
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Page 9 text:
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DEDICATION Nicholas M. Rieder How can we praise Nick Rieder? By what standard will we measure his greatness? None of our words of praise can add to those which have already been given him, for in the year since his death he has had the deserved homage of the entire school. Yet we feel the need to do still more for one who came among us. stayed all too briefly, and has passed away. During his life among us, we saw a man with the fire of knowledge; that man and that fire have changed many of us. Out of that fire of experience, we took a small spark which strengthened us and made us work along the lines he had fashioned. And so our words of praise seem rather small, for in praising him we seem to praise ourselves for what we have accomplished because of him. But Nick Rieder would like that, would value that praise more than any other we could possibly give him For his success is truly measured in our own success, and his accomplishments have been great. Noble men and eminent men have monuments of bronze and marble set up for them, but Nick Riedefs monument will be set up in our hearts so that we all become somewhat of the stuff that he was made of. He was an ardent pursuer of truth and knowledge. Measure, reserve, and proportion were his guides; Chris- tian humanism was his law. Very few men deserve the title gentleman as Nick Rieder deserved it. When he departed, he was laden with works, laden with the most illustrious and demanding responsibilities; yet ultimately when things happened which no doubt made him suffer tremendously, his tender face never lost its smile and he never spoke a harsh word to anyone. And thus he left in us a feeling of proud gratitude that he was given to us in this generation and that we knew and walked with this distinguished man. Nick has left a bold mark on Roger Bacon High School. As Chairman of the English Department for the last ten years, he has maintained the tradition of excellence that Bacon grads take with them to college and career. He has encouraged our interest in the literary and performing arts with his founding of the Penman and his direction of dramas and musicals for over five years. He fostered scholarship among us through the Academic Awards Banquet, which he helped institute, and through the National Honor Society, having founded the Roger Bacon Chapter. He furthere sharpened our intellects through the It's Academic program and the Chess Club, both of which he served as moderator. We were constantly amazed at his tireless energy. Men of Bacon, you have witnessed his professional conduct and felt his unrivaled eloquence. You know how well he performed the duties of teacher and the services of friend; you know that he never courted your favor by adulation or the sacrifice of his own judgment, but instead challenged your mind and served your clearest interests, sometimes even in spite of yourselves. For all of us who now feel and enjoy the benefits resulting from his firm guidance, the yearbook staff dedicates the 1980 Troubadour to Nicholas M. Riedert
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