Rogers Hall School - Splinters Yearbook (Lowell, MA)

Page 11 text:

TIME PASSES Climbing up a scenic mountain, Listening to the sounds of God, Looking as the leaves float by, I feel so free - climbing . . . listening . . . looking . . . Gliding down a snowy trail, Feeling the wi11d against my face, Knowing that l'm not alone, I am so happy - gliding . . . feeling . . . knowing . . . XValking along a blooming lane, Seeing the buds appear once more, Hearing the songs of the first few I am so lucky - walking . . . seeing . . . hearing . . . Swimming gracefully through the Enjoying the freshness of the air, birds. ripples, Hoping the day would last forever, I am so content - swimming . . . enjoying . . . hoping. Knowing this is God's own world, Believing there is none so great, Loving life the way I do, I am thankful - knowing . . . believing . . loving. PAMELA MURRAY, '60 PEACE A thousand nights A hundred fleeting dreams A vision met and rarely seen. HAL MAGUIRE, '61

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fgakw if . . VL' lil ff' f4., : p 5 - fi jg-1 N, jd f x p 1 . it ' X i my 5 7 id X gf? all .mv X gl- Q lx will Q 'S X lwf' !7 X x yt if bf ' ,. Mill WZ! ! A -Q f ff? ' - , ff- 'F'1'1 A Ali! Q. X -- QS. X . L fi A CREATURE OF GOD In my opinion, one of the most beautiful creatures that God has cre- ated takes form in the horse. Unaltered by what man prefers in him, he re- sembles strength, majesty, and intelligence, the latter of which many people decidedly do not realize. Some people would rather watch a horse in action, guided by a rider. If one has ever experienced the feeling of mastering a horse, thinking of the more simple forms of mastery, he can fully appreciate the excellent teamwork and coordination of a skillful rider and a well trained horse. However, in my mind I would much prefer to watch a horse enjoying freedom. This creature, flying along at a gallop, resembles beauty which is to me unsurpassed. Mane and tail flying in the wind, neck proudly arched, and slender but strong legs pounding over the ground, eating it up mile by mile. XVhen this flighty creature comes to a stop he seems to survey the world as his own, with his head held high, nos- trils dilated, and eyes flashing, he seems to be saying - I am king, and all others must bow down before me. He is magnificant, proud, and gentle all at one time. He can also be dis- tainful of his fellow creatures and even of humans. He seems to me a creature of God, - unequalled by mortals. BARBARA SMIT H, '60

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THE AW AKENING He was asleep. It was no ordinary sleep, relieving, relaxed, induced by instinct, but rather like a repose of death. Sleep passes through stages of depth until upon reaching the final black abyss it remains undisturbed and unpenctrated by visions and dreams. A regenerating, inactive state, yet his had passed from inactivity to oblivion and because he was my son, my heart was troubled, my mind worried. This suspension of m-ind was unnatural for one usually so active, so alert. Even in sleep he usually thrashed about, disarranging his covers as well as his body so that his arms became wrapped around his head and his feet placed in the most awkward positions. Now as I looked down upon his little bed, I scrutinized the occupant, taking in the blackness of his hair against the white pillow, the relaxed contours of his mouth and the little white hands folded one over the other on the blanket. How like his father. God had given me the exact replica of my love to salve my soul and fill my heart when he took my life's breath away so cruelly. As I now surveyed my son I was frightened, for his sleep was one of complete unconciousness, dormant, quiescent. For hours I sat beside him watching every breath until at the dawn his hands moved, his lids slid open and brown eyes stared at me at first unrec- ognizing but then lighting with love, for here was his security. My son had returned from that frightening stupor of unconscious sleep and my soul was quieted. ' DIANE ROWELL, '60 CONTRASTS Before me stood a castle A towering Fabric Of Stone. Gigantic Solid. I W A masterpiece of beauty In Its Day. But now Cold Ever so Cold. A mark of the past Signifying nothing To Our y Generation. NANCY NEVIUS, '61