Toulon Township High School - Tolo Yearbook (Toulon, IL)

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6 March, Nineteen Twenty-Nine AFTER I GRADUATE. School days over, and life ahead, Am I fit to pass the test? Can I put to use what each book said, And rise above the rest? Or must I live and be content, A common working man, And waste all that my father spent, To put me where I am? With the happy days of freedom past, And grim old life ahead, Work to live is mine at last, To toil for life’s own bread. Am I great enough to keep away From the things I know are wrong? Am I great enough to lose today And arise the next with a song? Am I great enough to keep my heart, My soul and body strong? To play it square and do my part, When every one says I’m wrong? Can I go thru the pitfalls of life? Along that narrow lane, And gain success with honest strife, With a pure and upright name? If I can, then I’m glad, For I’ve passed the great test, And I’ll be thankful to Dad, My teachers and all the rest, For God is watching over all, And He can see the best, And thru our murky battle pall, He knows I’ve passed His test. —R. Burcham. If you have a friend worth loving, Love him. Yes and let him know That you love him, ere life’s evening Tinge his brow with sunset glow. Why should good words ne’er be said Of a friend till he is dead? If you hear a song that thrills you, Sung by any child of song, Praise it. Do not let the singer Wait deserved praises long. Why should one who thrills your heart Lack the joy you may impart? —K. B.

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March, Nineteen Twenty-Nine 5 For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.—Coleridge, “Ancient Mariner.” “Oh wad some power the giftie gie us, To see oursels as ithers see us!” Robert Burns, “To a Louse.” “Cowards die many times before their death: The valiant never taste of death but once.”—Shakespeare, “Julius Caesar.” “Man’s word is God in man: Let chance what will, I trust thee to the death.”—Tennyson, “Coming of Arthur.” “He makes no friend who never made a foe.”—Tennyson, “Lancelot and Elaine.” “But one man of her crew alive What put to sea with seventy-five.”—Stevenson, “Treasure Island.” “Be not the first by whom the new is tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.”—Pope, “Essay on Criticism.” “Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream.”—Longfellow, “Psalm of Life.” AGAIN. Seniors go out and blink and blink, And never seem to care or think That this is the way they all begin To hit the trail of I’m all in. But that’s the way it’s always been, And that’s the way it will be again. Juniors go out to get the news, Copy from others and get their views. They never seem to care or know That copying leads to endless woe, But that’s the way it’s always been, And that’s the way it will be again. Sophomores go out to see the show, And thus their averages go far below; And tho’ they think that all is well, Their exams and average will surely tell. But that’s the way it’s always been, And that’s the way it will be again. Freshmen go out to join the dance, And with their lessons to take a chance; But soon they find they’re off the track, And learn too late they can’t come back. But that’s the way it’s always been, And that’s the way it will be again. And so it is from day to day That many fail the passing way And learn alas! when it’s too late, They can’t go thru the passing gate. But that’s the way it’s always been, And that’s the way it will be again.

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March, Nineteen Twenty-Nine JUST TALK. One time while I was in the South, I was standing on a corner in a Georgia village and overheard the following conversation between two old negroes as they ambled down the street: “And dat’s not all, Rastus, ah killed a possum once’t dat wuz six’t foot frum der tip uff hiz noztrails tah der udder tip uff hiz wagger. Hit tuck all mah super-haid know’in tuh git um, Bo, and yo’ know I’se wun uff de earth’s ’riginail sharpshooters.” “Yuh don’ sey so,” said Rastus, “I’se sees nuthin’ common ’bout dat. I’se nebber shoots dem iff dey izz les than siz’t foot.” “Lissen, Black Bo,” said the first, “Iff yo all see’d a possum six’t foot frum his noztrails rite on back, you’d trabble fas’, Bo, you’ trabble fas’.” “Sey, Coon,” said Rastus, “Ah’m going’ tah get con-si-dental wiff yuh. Don’ yo all in-singe on mah coo-rageous doin’s or Ah’ll git mah ra zoo, Bo, and carve you’ so yo’ Missue don re-liz hits her husbun’.” “Keep on, Ign-ant, keep on, and yo’ll haff tah git crutches fo’ you brains. Dat’s de kind uff boy ah iz,” said the first old negro. “Yo’ izz the li’eness nigger ah know,” said the one called Rastus, “But ah’ll let you be, mah spirits ud bodder iff ah hurt you’.” “Don’ worry ’bout de spirits, Blaskie, jus dispute mah word again und you’ll be wid dem.” “Yo’ don’ sey, yo don’ sey,” purred Rastus, “Yo’ bark is wuse dan yo’ bite, yo’ couldn’t bodder a meskito, so jes’ trabble down de way. I’se no time tah lissen tah you’ braggin’.” “Well, I’se bedder be goin’ but git in you’ heaid, Rastus, I’se wunt stan’ fo’ no messin’ wid mah huntin’ pow’ess.” “Oh, dat’s all rite, Shanks, I’se know’ed all de time yo’ wu a grand ’unter but ah jus’ wunted tah be shure.” “Sey, Rastus, did ah ebber tell yah ’bout de time ah shot de alley-gaiter down in de ribber----------” And they drifted on down the street telling tales and arguing. And I wonder if they don’t represent a lot of us in life. Going down life’s road doing a lot of bragging, telling everyone what you are going to do and what you have done. But really talk without action is useless. —Roy Burcham. THE ASSASSINATION OF AIN’T. A small group of students stood in the English room where Good English sat enthroned. “Is there anything else that I or my council can do for you?” he inquired. One of the students advanced. “Oh, most mighty English—” “There’s no need of any fond remarks, Otis. Your brother has been banished and I intend that he shall remain banished! The idea of saying