St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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Zlgnatiem Vol. III DECEMBER, 1912 No. 1 A Hiainn nf Bethlzhrm OWN he knelt, a pilgrim lowly, Down he knelt this Christmas morn, And his heart was filled with gladness, - At the first faint Hush of Dawn. Lo! he views the shepherds prostrate On the damp and earthy floor, And a glorious troop of Angels, Bent in rapture to adore 'Tis the grot, where crowned with glory, Jesus lay, a Babe new-born, In the Crib so sweetly sleeping l Shown again this Christmas morn. As the voices cease theirsinging, And the Angels disappear, Kneels the watcher raptly praying: Christmas morn and Christ is here. H. Raymond H all.

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Photo by Bushn

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igearii earninga True happiness is not the growth of earth, The soil is fruitless if you seek it there: 'Tis an exotic of celestial birth, And never blooms but in celestial air. Sweet plant of paraddiseg its seeds are sown In here and there a breast of heavenly mould, It rises slow, and buds, but ne'er was known To blossom here-the climate is too cold. Whilst wandering along the path, we pass over a bleak and dreary desert, imposing in the simple grandeur, yet far more desolate and uninviting than Sahara's torrid waste. Ahead in the dim distance a beautiful spot is seen wherein everything to be desired is found, the home of the one great treasure death offers to mankind-the abode of perfect happi- ness. Hastening our steps we near the spot only to find that it has faded from view, reappearing far off on the edge of the horizon as before. Once more do we push forward with quickened pace 5 once more are we met with the repetition of the seemingly magical disappearance. Over and over again do we seek this entrancing spot, yet never are we brought to a realiza- tion that what we strive to gain is but a mirage, magnificent yet unreal. Thus is it in life, the mirage of perfect happi- ness ever beckoning us on., Yet while it is but a mirage in this life, in the life to come a transformation takes place and it assumes a definite form. Here it is found to be but a mockery, there a reality, here a thing of fancy, there an entrancing fact. Within the soul of every human being there exists a cer- tain craving for perfect happiness, an inborn, unceasing de- sire, before which all worldly things are like chaff swept be- fore the wind. In the lower type of creatures 'we find that once their cravings are satisfied, contentment is theirs. This, however, is not true of man. In him there is a continual