St Margarets Academy - Dayseye Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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Out of The Abundance of The Heart Pmylus Glorvicx Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh, but con-siJer.it ion must be given to the things concealed in these abundances— thoughts cherished and sweet, secrets dark and horrible, hopes and dreams unspoken, for even in a coquette's shallow heart are dreams and thoughts too living and idealized to find just utterance. In the motley crowd of hearts is discernible the exhuberant heart of the maiden who joyously and affectionately gazes at Life with sparkling anticipation in her unwavering eyes. The withering heart of the old man who has incessantly battered at Life’s secure gate finally sees it open to him, only to realize that the sportive hopes of his youthful days lie within deep shadows. The ironclad yet cowering heart of the criminal with its fast dying ember of long-dead honor rankles with hatred and curses this thing called Life. The splendid white heart, aglow with the radiance of spirituality silently and secretly feeds the flame on an altar of ideals. Whether the flames of these heart offerings ascend to Heaven's throne or are ruthlessly rejected, that is the secret, fast locked in impenetrable fastnesses. Birth of A Violet Gi.ynetta Beers Who thought of the violet?' I , snow said. I made up the violet. Stem and each purple head.” Snow made a violet! Pooh! scorned the rain. At each tiny droplet Violets purpled the plain. Winter Etchings Marie Zuccaro It was at my study window That I saw the crystal sight In living hues depicted By the hoarv frost last night. There were a thousand dreamy fancies Running up and down the pane. Flowers, trees, and frosted jewels Woven in a white refrain. A Dream Tower Helen Ryan Oh, thou needle-pointed, flaming mass Of forbidding, silent rock. How calm you lie within a landscape splashed With leagues of bloom and soft green grass! Long ‘ere the Paleface claimed you for its own. Many a hardy soul of the Dying Race scaled Your heights to gaze upon the crimson forest And haunted glades, to brood alone. And your rugged walls, still in splendor gleam, Unchanged with the current of slow drifting years. And on the long, still summer days you glisten A sparkling tower for a sweet woodland dream. Harp Strings E1.1.A Loring As if they are ascending from an angel's wing of dusty gold, the subtle tones float lightly away at the touch of each slender string. These notes are sing ing a song which gently bears me back to an age that is as mellow as their rich, resonant tones. A fair lady peeks from 'neath her sun-shade and walks with dainty feet hidden amidst a cloud of lacy ruffles,—a lady like rare perfume, tantalizingly sweet. Then a gallant gentleman in long-tailed coat and high hat bows to his blushing rose. As they stroll down the flower-bordered path, love and serenity beam upon each countenance. But now they fade into the distance, and my dream is at an end. The golden notes cease; the strings stand mute and still. Pdgt Twfnly thtee

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Seniors Florence Therese Ruff So unaffected, to rich in mind. So firm, so strong, yet so refined. Helen Letitia Ryan A (harming person with no mean wealth of mind. Florence Margaret Salzl Yea, the Lord of all things hath loved her.” Maxine Sarazin Jolly, frank, and very active. And, I add. quite attractive. Irene Frances Schultz A polite, silent listener, An earnest, happy partaker. Rosemary Seigel Always modest, frank, and true, She's a dear friend through and through. Katherine Jeannf Tolen An earnest student in her (lasses, A queenly associate with her friends. Leora Marie Torborg Attractive by her simplicity. Likeable for her sincerity. Helen Adele Vincent Her gentle ways and sweet sympathy have »on many friends. Marcella Margaret Waloherr Marcella has Titan hair; Her winsomencsf is still more rare.

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My Good Shepherd Frances Heinz I mount the weep and barren mountain Mid jutting point and hollowed groove, Unprecautioned of the danger That surrounds my every move. With fervent love and constant care He leaves His safely-grazing fold. To hound my single straying step And lead me to the pasture of my soul. So Red The Rose Elaine La Palme So red the rose as it hung there, I knew that in one burst of glory I.ove had come. So red the rose as it was plucked From its thorn My heart cried out and sang Of its beauty. So red the rose as it lay in my hand. I fain would have held it for aye. Rut redder still the rose when it gleamed Like a gem in her jet black hair. Trees Honour Kappei.ler As I listened to the willows dripping moisture On the walk outside my window, I thought that they had hearts as well as we; I know that my willow tree must feel. If you have ever seen a poplar Lifting its sturdy arms in prayer, Or pines under the stars dark and heavy With their mystery of forgotten ages. You will not doubt it. Drip. Drip. Theirs is real beauty. Their delicate, silhouettes blur Against the dripping sky. I then thought of silver birches, Bending their slim litheness to cool streams: Of maples, the color of old wine, Against the autumn sunset. I saw dark, spear-pointed spruce trees Against the dark hills And a white moon caught among their boughs Drip. Drip. The steady rhythm of the rain was the only sound In the stillness of the night Like the faint beating of a tom-tom. Fire In The Sunset Marjorie Heltemes She stood among the tall birches, a lithe and beautiful figure. Her wistful eyes, soft as a fawn’s, watched the low flame that burned beneath a huge pot. Hesitatingly, she stirred the embers with a crooked branch. The darkening woods were full of subdued noises.—the soft patter of a dog's feet on the thickly strewn forest floor; a far away call of her brother; the staccato jabbering of red squirrels; the distant chatter of birds. Thin grey smoke spiraled up to red and yellow leaves. Her eyes followed its graceful line until it disappeared in the darkening blue of the evening sky. Birches shone whitei in the gloam; pines assumed an atmosphere of crouching warriors; the tamaracks stood grim. A light, westerly breeze carried to shore the tantalizing breath of fresh water. With one swing Mahica, the Indian girl, lifted a pot from its resting pole, lightly carrying it into the tent. Her bare, brown feet hardly crushed the thick moss which clung to the forest floor. Tonight there was a restlessness about her as she passed noiselessly in and out of the shadows of the forest. She added fresh cut pine to the smoldering Are; the flames flickered, glared blue, then flamed up to a vivid red. Mahica stood silently, gazing out upon the placid waters of the Indian's Mallaca , her own eyes reflecting the crimson glow of the summer sunset. Autumn Margaret Loth Splash of scarlet, a little gold. Everything touched with autumn's cold; Silently the flowers depart. Chilled by frost unto the heart. Memoir Of A Nun Bkrnaimne Lohmar A black-robed figure at prayer in the chapel dim, Has come there to rest and commune with Him; Her hands move over her long, black beads, I.ost in fond and sacred memories. Twas just a hundred years ago today They departed from France on their toilsome wav, Siz brave St. Joseph nuns inspired by God, Six angels of mercy to a land scarce trod. As the years passed on fleet wings, silently First tens, then hundreds, then thousands fearlessly. Filled with a rapturous faith and love. X Offered lives consecrated to their Creator above. Page Twenty-four n ■ -• VSVv-V fe'j Trees After The Rain Eijzabkth Noonan The trees are majestic paintings tonight. Tall and aloof they stand Glistening in the moonlight. Rustling in the shadows. And echoing through the glen. Dew clustered monuments of time, Stately and still they stand. Resolution Low Goodwin 1 11 be like the ocean. Constant and true. White caps of courage Topping off the blue.