Synodical College - Seminole Yearbook (Fulton, MO)

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, Literary . ' Books AS FRIENDS One should consider books as the best friends one has because they are silent inHuences for joy, sorrow, good, and evil. Good books are to be cultivated and read as carefully and often as one finds need for their influence. Likewise, bad books should be shunned and avoided with as much persistence as evil companions. Some people think of books as merely ornamental factors in the decoration of their homes. They buy them for the beauty of their bindings and with no thought, or care for what treasures they may have hidden behind those beautiful covers. Again, there are those who think of books as long, dry chronicles of uninteresting facts and would be quite bored if one suggested their reading a book for the pleasures they would receive from it. But I wonder just how interesting these same people are to talk to as long as the conversation does not follow the topics of fashions, golf and bridge? One may take a book for every, or any mood they happen to be in, whether it be adventure, mystery, romance, or a bit of nonsense and find the characters por- traying one or more of those moods. People may grow old and tiresome-things may become old-but-books' never grow old. Each time one picks one up to read again the passage that so ap- pealed to them they find the same interest and feel the same sense of joy or sorrow through which the actors are going. A book friend is always the same andhmay be depended upon throughout the years that elapse before it is reread. ' M.H.C. THE SONG OE THE LARK The misty veil of morn is quivering on The breeze, while far upon the waiting hills With rosy fingers folding back the mists, Aurora greets the dawnfa dawn that breathes And trembles with the prayers of flowers meek, A dawn that dances, glistens, hesitates To chase away thebeauties of the night Up from the pearly meadow soars a song- A song that whispers, all is well, unto The listening ear-a song that lingering through The day in hearts that toil and wait, spurs on Their sagging hopes and cheers their lonely sphere. T.I-I. COLD, GRAY DAWN All sparkling, gray and tinkling with the chill Of night, comes dawn, a dawn full unaware Just when its birth began, so much it seems A silvery echo of the fleeing night. A dawn that crackles, glistens, dances cold! cold! Cold! A cheerless sun that peeps o'er hills one Ilimfldred six

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Of gray, then seeks to hide his pale, cold visage From the earth behind a lifeless cloud. A dawn-yet scarce a dawn-but still a dawn, For it leads us on to life anew. Hush! I-Iark! I hear, I feel, a silvery note from out The deep. A sweetest note, vibrating Hope, hope! V I T. H. Pk P24 FF THE AWAKENING OE DAWN I had gone to the Ozarks formy summer vacation, and having heard of the beautiful sunrise I rose at four o'clock especially for the purpose of be- holding its glory. Standing on the Lookout some three hundred feet in front of Dobbin's Hall at the School of the Ozarks I awaited the coming of Dawn. The sky was without a cloud, the moon in its last quarter had just riseng there were the Pleiades just above the horizon shedding their sweet influence in the East, Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the dayg Lyra was sparkling near the zenithg Andromeda veiled her but recently discovered glories from the naked eye in the Southg while the steady Pointers far be- neath the pole looked up meekly from the North. In all it was a beautiful sight. Then the timid approach of twilight became more perceptableg the small stars closed their eyes and fell to rest behind the glow that kindled the East. The sister beams of the Pleiades melted togetherg the smaller stars of the Milky Way faded outg then, when the East was streaked with red and the Hames of day were reaching out with arms that unfolded the darkness, the watch stars closed their eyes as tired children and fell into the slumber lands of the heavens. The whole world was filled with the inflowing tide of the morning light and the day had dawned. , I. I.. I-I.. TO A POET NVhen I think of a poet and his work, How he spends his days to look and find Materials suitable for his mind, And is never content to stop or shirk, Although he deals with places where shadows lurk And subjects of every other kind, I ask if it is right to be blind To his true endeavors and his work? But then why should we all be bored With idle chattering and poetry scrappy? VVhy cannot this poor one be implored To stop his rabble and make us happy To take his papers, pencils, pens And go far back to his native ken? t I E. S. JMX one lnmdrcd seven