St Clair High School - Clairvoyant Yearbook (St Clair, MI)

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But in the distance one sees a mountain, mark! That is the height of lasting fame, Which will only be reached witli endless work. He who would scale its rocky heights Must struggle and fight, must not his duty shirk In recognizing his and other’s rights. “Now be a man and yourself make strong.” With no further words the voice was still And again Boy trod alone, the road so long. But slowly, only step by step he went, until At times, he toiled all unavailingly, And his great strength would seem to leave him. But always he thought of those parting words, “Be strong.” Even though the way was bare and dim And his course up the mountain seemed almost wrong. “But being a man means strong self denial,” He said to himself in the midst of the strife. His feet grew heavy and his brain meanwhile, Fought and wrestled with doubt ; and life Grew weary with bearing his and his brother ' s load. As he stood bewildered, in the land of despair, A spirit, before unseen, began to appear And he beheld a transformation rare — The gloom was gone and the air was clear. Then Boy turned to view from the steep hillside His distant goal, the treasured mountains of fame. But he saw not his former emblems of pride, They had changed and were hardly the same, They had become resplendent with noble deeds, While from the summits shone a light Which illumined his presence with radiance bright And at his side, in his image he saw revealed The nobler spirit of his Better Self. —GRACE BUGGEE. — 26 —

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HIS BETTER SELF CLASS POEM It was in the very springtime of life, A young lad turned from a school of books And entered at once upon the school of strife. Though glancing with longing at shady nooks, He walked and worked on the straight, hard path. And while he labored in noble deeds, He felt an influence from afar Which youth encounters but slowly heeds, His Better Self was the gleaming star. Boy stepped into a beautiful highway When first he his journey long began. He saw no obstacles to cause delay But yet, as he with keenness, the way did scan, He beheld no glory in that distant gleam. He had thought only of the noblest deeds to attempt And to reach his goal before the fall of night, While, as farther and farther on he went, He saw grow dim the beacon light. Then lost in thought he felt the spell of a presence And straining his ear, he heard a voice low and sweet — ‘Young man, sorrow not, you are without experience Rejoice rather that youth is yours, and greet Me now with silence, but later thank by doing right. This road is the path that ensnares youth ; With its musical sounds and gay joyous sights. Truth and manly deeds it destroys, with games uncouth It spreads before young life its vainest lights. ' “But heed, lad, yonder lies a road rough and steep; Rocky are the hills and the valleys broad and dark. The ascents are toilsome and there ' s no time for sleep, - 25 —

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PROPHESY When onr class graduated in 1914 each member promised that in 1924 he would write to every other member of the class. We could easily forsee what interesting revelations these letters would be. Today, ten years after our graduation, T have received almost every one of those fourteen letters. Thy come from all parts of the earth and I ' m going to spend the evening reading them. Here’s one clear from India. It is from Eleanor Pearce. She says: Dear Lena: Remembering our promise made in 1914, I will write my first letter to you. I have been here in India six years and it seems as though my work has just begun. Next year I shall return to the United States to go on the Chautauqua platform for the cause of foreign missions. Our aim is to raise a million dollars for the education of the In- dian children. It is a big undertaking but I think the effort worth while. Yours sincerely, ELEANOR. We all knew Eleanor would do something good out in the world. This letter is from Arthur Lively. Wonder what he is doing. New York City, June 22, 1924. Dear Lena: Much as I hate to write letters I suppose I must keep my promise and write these fourteen. Well, here I am in little old New York and I’m having the time of my life. Just let me tell you, this is the place for me. One can ' t get bored when he can go to a horse show or aviation meet almost every day in the year. I ' ve just about decided that a horse is too slow for me and I’m going to get one of those flying machines. It will be real handy when I want to run over to my place on Long Island. Well, so long, I’ve only got eleven more letters to write. ART. H’m! same old Art! Wonder how many girls he’ll go to see in his flying machine. The pext letter is postmarked San — 27 —