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

Page 14 text:

TH E IGNATIAN A Sung nf Ihr iKnah TINCEN17 VVn.1-mM HixI-L1N.xN, AB., 'l9. There's something in the camp tire's light That's kinda got me going to-nightg lielieve me, lio, l've got it right-- The 1 Jut The The fever's coming back: yonder where the grey pack reigns, night is whispering to the plains, night-winrl's spell is in my veins, It drives me in its track. l'm There's something That calls me off Bids Come and due to go: I know the signg in this blood of mine the beaten line. go I must: It's foundling of the South-sea's spray, The zephyrs of the mountain Way. It's jungle depths and sea-lapped cay, It's called the Wanderlust! A thousand times I've tried to shake Away the charm its memories wake, I've bent my very heart to break Its sinister spell, and then Out of the South would come the callg I'd see the well-known scenes and all The old familiar haunts, and fall. Ah! what a curse it's been! And with what strength it holds the man IVho follows in its causeless yan: lt's held in thrall since time began The race that don't fit ing Nor does its mystic message seek The craven-hearted or the weak. And those who learn at last to speak Its siren tongue are 1nen: Spill on their tracks the midnight trains

Page 13 text:

V lish, El llum t-S blk rn. i, Tl' 'wal C kay ..! W, A l ,Wie tilt- t yimlf llizl, ' l iw if mul' 1 r l wit, -i'r'lfH pn. A ii PATHS OF THE PADRES ll If the 1'll'i1'l46?d mission, a temple bereft of its ceremonies, a sanctuary without spirituality, a crumbling corpse, long since separated from the religious activity that animated it, appears, even thus, beautiful to the eye, what must have been its attractiveness, its grandeur, when it was livened by the peal of the Angelus, bestirred by the thread of sandled feet, vivified by the presence of its soul-the ritual of a practiced faith? Fair and stately in death, it must have been of a transcendent beauty in the bloom of life. The explanation of the California missions present love- liness is seen when we reflect that every great institution leaves its impress upon future ages. The temples of the Greeks are buried under the debris of years. The Roman forums are barely traceable in the dust of centuries but their influence still lives and they speak-even from their ruins. So it is with the California mission. It's beneficent influence survives. It is eloquent even in its mute and silent ruin. The California mission will last forever. The padre could exclaim, with Horace, E.rcgz7 monit- llI6'1'lfIllll acre pf.1'011ni11s!

Page 15 text:

A SONG OF THE RQ-ID Ur the Hung snow-drift of the plains Freezes the life blood in the veins Of the unfit, for they That take the fortune of the road Shall know the force of hunger's goad, They learn to write in hardship's code The lives they Hing away. There was one once, a pal l had, And with what clasp this siren mad Held him! He was a Harvard grad XYho'd thrown life for a loss: He had a Hghter's jaw and lips, :X hero's thews like corded whips From shoulder span to tapering hips. Lord! Nlfhat a man he was! lint like those fleeting storms that rise .-Xeross the changing vernal skies, Burned in the blue depths of his eyes, The world-old restlessness, And when life smiledgiklas! How rare He'd sing me songs that told how fair The poet's soul was bound somewhere Beneath the hobo's dress. And many a lazy Summer day, Stretehed on some meadow lawn we'd lay 'XVhile he regaled the hours away 'With tales his fancy drew: He'd conjure from his fertile brain Songs of the forest and the plain, And where, adown the Southern main, The Summer isles are blue? And ever would his poetry steal Back to some fanciful Ideal, An Island kingdomfand Cecile, The lady of his dreams. Cecile, says he, the days are drear,