Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

Page 39 text:

NINETEEN-THIRTEEN-FOURTEEN 35 OVER MY GREEK lYhat shades haunt these, the words that age has writ Dead bones left bleaching on the sands of time And culled like seashells in a sun-kissed clime? The page drabbed with day's cerements, is lit XYith lights more golden than the gold of it In its noontide Hare. The pomp of hundred flags Flaunts in the zephyr's face. Sound, ravished, lags, And all the gods, enthroned observant sit. Oh, if the ardors of a Sapphic dream XYith its wild lyric note of lawless love, Oh, if the epic march of Homer teem XYith notes vouchsafed but to the Gods above. Like silent wraiths my soul in full redeem Come bearing it to some Elysian grove. Dear Mother From the first bugle call to the last faint retreat, 'Midst the men's dying shrieks, 'midst the cannon's white heat, O'er the corpse of brave men, 'neath the riddled old flag, Your boy was there. There were flashes, were crashes, were staggers, were falls 'Neath the dark, grim, cold steel, 'neath the fast-whizzing balls, At the head of mad legions, with shrill calling blares, Your boy was there. Giving orders here and there, cheering men everywhere, Helping fallen and fighting 'neath the powder's white Hare. Running forward, running backward, oler the blood-soaked earth, Your boy was there. Though your boy neler will tell of the deeds done that day, Though your boy ne'er will march o'er the homeward way, XVhen the troops come marching by, proudly hold your head on high For remember From the first bugle call to the last faint retreat, 'Midst the men's dying shrieks, 'midst the cannon's white heat, O'er the corpse of brave men, 'neath the riddled old flag, Your boy was there.

Page 38 text:

34 THE HARRIS ANNUAL and last friend, the violin. The shrieks of the frightened children soon brought a number of people around the fainted beggar. An ele- gantly clad man, the same who had opened the window to listen to the music of the old man, pushed his way through the crowd, and kneeled down beside the body. I am a doctor,', he said authoritatively. After a short examination, he ordered the unconscious beggar to be carried inside the building. A half hour's work enabled the doctor to revive the old man. As soon as the patient was comfortably laid on a couch, the doctor asked him gently: Tell me how you come to know the music of the lullaby you just played P Ohl That was my own composition. It is a memento of a sad event. I used to play it, many years ago, to my child. Your child? lVhat was his name? asked the doctor, a little be- wildered. David, my little David, David Michaelsonf' answered the old man with tears in his eyes. The young man's face turned livid, and, with a passionate cry, he threw his arms about the old man's body, pressing it tightly to his wildly beating heart, and murmuring with fervent joy, Oh, father, my dear lost father. You are found at last l At first the beggar was in a bewildered confusion and stared va- cantly into the tearful eyes of the young doctor: but as the mist lifted from his mind he tightly clasped his hands about the physician's neck and swooned again. lVhen he awoke from his stupor, the first words that his parched lips uttered were, Oh, child, my child, can it be true that God has sent thee to me at last! Oh, David- 'iBe calm, dear father! You must rest! 'XVhen such a miracle has been performed before my very eyes? How did it happen? Tell me. The young man turned his light blue eyes to the haggard, worn out features of his old father, and in a gentle voice said: It was the Voice of the Violin, father, that brought you to my side. The throb- bing rhythm of those Hrst strains revived in a flash the slumbering memories of my childhood. Praise be to the Voice of the Violin, which has recalled a son to his long-lost father. JACOB JOEL KLANSKY.

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THE SNOWFALL Sultry the evening, rolled the hlackening clouds, Qver the city, mingling with the smoke, . The reeking waste that spread through grimy air, And hid the heavens, T The sun, burnished a thousand steeples, and sinking, Spread the night! Now all was shadow, and the earth, the sky, lfVere one, the day-lit rears, the laughs, the sobs, Were stifled, Like a monster restless in his sleep, Rumbled the City, heaving in heavy slumber. Thus fled the night, but stealthily, Witla silent footfalls fell the feathered snow, The dawn Awoke and lay a vaporecl white, And veiled her silence in a silvered mist: And down, Where former stood the sullied city, now Ten thousand palaces in shimmering whiteness lay! LOUIS GRUDIN