St Marys High School - Labarum Yearbook (Saginaw, MI)

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A Church at Dusk I T was very simple ard austere this little country church but in the dusk of the November evemng there was something about fe fl , g Hug TU it that quieted the soul of the tired world-weary man kneeling humbly at the altar rail. The altar itself, that humble throne of Our Blessed Lord and Savior, upon which is offered His blood for our sins, reared dim and ghostlike in the background, utterly unlike the brilliantly lighted, beautifully decorated altar seen at Benediction. The sanctuary lamp glowed richly red and comforting, telling that the Beloved Father was there to listen to and to give consolation to any of His wayward children. This sacred glow was the only light in the Church and it cast weird, fantastic shadows over the black, indistinct forms of the benches, throwing into relief the happy countenance of the modern publican. -Rosemary Wilson, '24 0 .i. Friends CCORDING to Webster, a friend is a person attached to another kr by affection, regard, or esteem. Through life we are bound to come in contact with people who in some way or another become entangled in the web of our lives. Friends in whom we place full confidence are very dear, as it is quite natural to become attached to those who know and understand our true feelings. Sometimes the appeal is through a bond of sympathy, while again it is through encour- agement bestowed in trying experiences and difficult undertakings. But we have two friends dearer to us than all of these,-dearer than life itself. Oftimes these are little appreciated and the ones to whom we are the least grateful. In them we may find true confidence, true friendship, and true love. They are our first friends, the ones given to guide us in early childhood when we were unable to lisp their names. They are our own dear mothers and fathers,-our only true, true earthly friends! --Mary Jane DeVeauX, '24

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But God ls Sweet My mother told me so, When I knelt at her feet Long-so long-agog She clasped my hand in hers. Ah! me, that memory stirs My soul's profoundest deep- No wonder that I weep. She clasped my hands and smiled, Ah! then I was a child- I knew not harm- My mother's arm Was flung around meg and I felt That when I knelt To listen to my mother's prayer, God was with mother there. Yea! God is sweet! She told me sog She never told me wrongg And through my years of woe, Her whispers soft, and sad, and low, And sweet as Angel's song, Have floated like a dream. -Father Abram J. Ryan J 3511