Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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o Guv Service flag AGNES A. ANDREWS NE HUNDRED stars in the service flag, One hundred lives for you and me, One hundred boys to meet the foe In France across the sea. They are fighting for us, they are dying for us, To save us from the Hun. On them is the burden of progress laid, The burden since earth was begun. Oat under fire in the wet and the damp, Under night ' s dark canopy. The bravest boys, the worthiest boys, Are freeing you and me. Brave Boys, when your task is done, And you come from freeing the earth, The world will hail you with a joy anew For aiding her rebirth. One hundred stars in the service flag, One hundred lives for you and me, One hundred boys to meet the foe In France across the sea. We are but one of the champions of the rights of mankind. — The President. Page Twenty-seven]

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great German military wheel he did his duty as it was forced upon him. As a man and a lover of free humanity, he gave his own life that he might save the champions of Liberty and Justice. No nobler hearted man ever walked on French soil than Karl, and the autocratic hand that forced him to oppose the rights of mankind with the great strength of his body could not make him oppose it with the greater strength of his soul. When peace again comes to the land of the Fleur-de-lis I am going back to that little mound on the French frontier and pay to it the love and gratitude of a Frenchman ' s heart. Above it shall be raised a monument dedicated to him who was strong enough to fight for the things he hated and die for the things he loved. Then as France looks with pride upon the monuments of her own heroic soldier sons, she may stop for a moment before this one and say, with the inscription on its base : ' ' Here lies a man. ' ' We Red Cross B DAISY CARTER RIGHTER THAN the flames of shelled cities Glows the beacon-like red of its hue, Bringing to No Man ' s Land pity; Its call, Save the fallen and true; Whiter than fairest of flowers, The lily-like fields of its white, Bringing a great healing power To restore the wounded man ' s might. Sweet balm for the wounded and dying, Comfort and joy mark its course ; Soothing relief for the sighing, All come direct from this source. ' Tis the banner of comforting peace Thrown wide that suffering might cease. The thing we are fighting is without heart or conscience. It is, in short, ' Kultur — Louis Howland. [Page Twenty-six

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%2 ' Regeneration lerence ocott MARY GOODLOE BILLINGS TERENCE SCOTT, on the morning of April 6, 1917, was awakened by his room-mate who was studying elocution. He was uttering the gurgling vowel sounds of the beginner, and his penetrating voice pierced the sweet- ness of Terence ' s beauty sleep. With a groan he remembered the day and rolled out to put the finishing touches to his Senior oration. This was his last chance to work on it. Terence was the honor student of the Senior class — pale, stooped and list- less. How he ever endured his room-mate was a mystery to the college, for Bob Claypool was just the reverse; a broad-shouldered, straight, energetic fel- low. Terence, however, admired his room-mate in spite of the inconvenience of walking over Bob ' s dumb-bells and tennis racquets; in spite of never knowing what he would find in his bunk when he turned down the covers; in spite of being awakened at all hours, since Bob had taken up elocution, by the ah, eeh, ooh, of the beginner. Terence completed the oration amid the noise and confusion of Bob ' s morn- ing calisthenics. He breathed a sigh of relief when, with a So long, Scotty, Bob departed for his tennis court. His oration was on The Value of the Manufacturing Industry, and he hoped — in fact, expected — to get the Senior prize. Never in all the four years of his college life had Terence been any- thing but a grind. He had never taken part in any of the social functions and spent all his recreation hours in his everlasting study. As a result, he was by no means popular with the majority of the students. The only person who had any genuine affection for him was Bob Claypool. The day passed quickly in the usual way, during which Terence did not so much as catch a glimpse of Bob. That evening, as he was studying in his room, the missing Bob rushed in, slammed the door, and with his face in a glow of excitement, thrust the evening paper before the bored eyes of his studious room-mate, who read this headline: The test of our worth is the service we render. — Theodore Roosevelt. fPago Twenty-eight