Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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Tfee-MSIOD T ANNA SCHMIDT, ' 20 HE RED-GOLD of the western sun Shines on an autumn ' s wooded hills ; The hazy oriental blue Colors the tumbling mountain rills; And all across the sunset sky The birds wing homeward one by one, Dark forest aisles are beckoning them, A welcome when the day is done. Now high within the southern sky, A windswept cloud of gold appears, And in this cloud a vision shines, A -vision lasting through the years; A cloud-child bending o ' er a book, Golden head and hair of gold, A student at his happy task, Eeceiving wisdom manifold. Above his head the cloud sweeps on. The path whereon his thoughts doth run, The pictures that the book presents, The wonderland of beauty won. The halo round his head is bright His wisdom shines around the world. The sky reflects his glory back Where wandering clouds are softly furled. The Spirit of the Vision speaks A call to youth the world around, Hark to thy books, there shalt thou learn Much wisdom still by thee unfound. The Spirit ' s voice is low and sweet It breathes of paths as yet untrod — But wander in the great outdoors There shalt thou draw more nigh to God. Thy service in Christ ' s kingdom, too. Will pave the way to realms above;

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the unspeakable place, fully expecting to see his great-uncle Harry ' s ghost, or the shade of his great-great-grandmother rise from its long resting place and point a phantom finger at him. Most of the graves were very old, and the slabs had sunk until they were fully a foot or two below the surface of the ground. As he passed each one, Tommy ' s heart pounded a little harder and he was sure he heard a rustling noise in one of the deeper ones. He had often visited the graveyard in the daytime, and he knew exactly which were the oldest and most sunken stones. When he reached the grave of his father ' s cousin William, he peered down into the oblong black space and then crept gingerly into it. His father ' s cousin William had died when he was only fifteen, and Tommy was not afraid of encountering the ghost of a mere boy. He unrolled his bundle, which was only the top sheet from his bed and wrapt himself in his ghostly garment. As he crouched there shivering, the time seemed interminable, for there was nothing to do but wait. What if Sukey should already have returned? What if she should come around by the road? What if she should have decided to spend the night at the camp? He could not be sure of anything. Perhaps he had better give it up and run back as fast as he could. But after an eternity of fearful waiting had passed, he heard the huge negress ' flat-footed tread. She was walking as softly as she could, and Tommy knew by her uneven gait that she was as badly scared as he. When he was sure that she was near enough, he rose slowly from the grave of his father ' s cousin William — when to his horror he saw emerging from its tomb the ghost of great-uncle Harry, gigantic and shapeless, it seemed to him. Sukey, helpless with fright was standing rooted to the spot, her large eyes rolling heavenward, when she heard two familiar voices scream ' ' Aunt Sukey ! ' ' and both white figures rushed madly toward her. Her ready tongue was re- gaining all its former power, enhanced by her present rage, as she scolded and swore at the ghostly figures clinging about her knee. You good-f ' r-nothing chillen, you! Traipsin ' aroun ' hyah in yo ma ' s sheets a-tryin ' to act like the daid. You-all git — and git quick! Ef this hyah nigger didn ' t have no buckets of maple sugah in both huh hands, she sho ' would tan the hide off en ' you. You Mahse David, le ' go my laig, an ' git home as fast as you can. The nex ' time you-all plans to scare ol ' Sukey you bettah come together so ' s you don ' t both git white-headed a-seenin ' each othah rise up !

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T The kindly deeds performed by thee Will be rewarded by his love. The Spirit vanished ; slowly, too, The Vision faded soft away. The clouds took on the darker hue Of autumn ' s fast retreating day. The solitude of mountain heights Brings many visions bright and clear, Which bring to understanding souls The wisdom that we hold so dear. HELEN WOLTERS, ' 20 HE SUN is fading in the west, Hush-a-bye, baby, don ' t cry; The birds are flying to their nests, Hush-a-bye, baby, don ' t cry. The four o ' clocks are blooming now, Fire-flies will soon appear; The evening winds are sighing low, Night time is drawing near. f