Wakefield High School - Oracle Yearbook (Wakefield, MA)

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THE W. H. S. DEBATER THE TRINITY OF LABOR === BY MARJORIE CARTWRIGHT, 1912 Against the simm ' ring shafts of mid-day sun The glow ' ring city flings its soot-clad towers ; Along its streets the busy hum of life. The stir of noon-returning toll with cries Confused, and mingling hoarsely like the sound Of seething surf breaking with sullen song Upon the shore, moves army-strong, and like The vandal hordes, vast and all-conquering. Sweeps away huge barriers and surges On to meet the whistle ' s clarion call. Street venders, raucous voiced, shout loud Their petty wares, and crowd the thronging press With elbowed mutterings, while blue-sleeved law Restrains with Vviide-protecting arms, and guards The trafficked curb. And still the hot sun pours Its burning rays upon the beaten pave Reflecting twice and thrice its mirrored self : While echoing and re-echoing toil Its step directs in duty ' s pathless way. And higher up the deafening clamor mounts Upon the sultry, leaden winged air Far up where office windows burnished gleam. And brain and concentrated thought provide Th ' accustomed tasks of daily man. Here life And all its myriad movements are controlled. And strength is taught the power of reason ' s sway : Here Capital pours forth its golden flood To labor ' s outstretched hand, and craftily Extracts its more than rightful due, watching With hundred peacocked eyes its victims wrilhe. And struggle in the gilded toils : here, loo. Calm-thinking Science sits, and chin on hand. Broods pensively some new device for man; Or oft conceives a filmy thread of thought. Weaving the warp and woof iiito a web Of perfect structured form, that shall teach men The guiding of the universe, — shall show To Capital the master of its power, Shall give to sweating Labor hard wrought wage — Science, dependent victor that she is. Half grudgingly shall give her counseled craft. And here shall Capital and Science both Watch Labor ' s ceaseless toil, and listening Shall hear from out the depths of seething earth Its chorded song rise full and mellow, like The swelling organ ' s rounded harmony Full-throated from the diaphragm of Toil ; Still with intentness listening, shall discern

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THE W. H. S. DEBATER tf lITTlECRAYMUmREL Am rove-coLORBD rieeoij- JiT ITTLE Gray Squirrel was very busy putting y. peanuts into holes in the ground in the yard of the Great University. It was summer and many mortals had come from far in search of morsels of learning, bringing in their pockets peanuts and kernels of com, which they very con- siderately threw on the ground. Dove-colored Pigeon, perched airly on the arm of a settee near-by, watched him at his work. You are very foolish, Little Gray Spuirrel, to work so hard this hot weather. Why do you not eat your breakfast and enjoy yourself as I do ? Little Gray Squirrel gave his bushy tail a little toss, winked his left eye, and went on with his work. By and by the mortals departed, each his own way, and there was an end to the peanuts and kernels of corn. Again Dove-colored Pigeon perched herself on the arm of the settee ; but this time her tail-feathers drooped very disconsolately, for she had had no breakfast. You are very fortunate to have so many peanuts to eat, she re- marked in an envious tone of voice to Little Gray Squirrel, who was busy taking them from a hole in the ground. Little Gray Squirrel gave his tail a triumphant toss, winked one eye and replied, You can ' t have your cake and eat it too. Elizabeth F. Ingram. The Indian ' s Lament BY PAULINE TAFT, ' 14 THE summer sky glowed with the last rays of the setting sun. Quietly twilight was falling and the shadows lengthening over the lake. Softly through the underbrush along the western shore of the lake crept a dark figure, tall of stature, with a swathy skin, high check bones, and piercing black eyes. It was Big Chief Quonopohit, who had returned to his hunting grounds of the long ago. Stealthily he crept nearer the shore and looked across the darkening surface of the lake. Where was his wigwam and the little village of his Saugus tribe of Indians ? In their places he saw the fine houses of white men, with velvety lawns extending to a broad street. Glittering reflection of the setting sun still lingered on the windows of the houses, appearing to the inexperienced eyes of the old Chief like in- numerable suns blazing in the east. In place of the old trail through the forest, there was a street with trees on either side. Along this street flashes of lightning seemed to follow huge monsters, while other monsters with gleaming eyes rushed wildly about in the gathering gloom. Only the lake remained as it used to be. Instinctively the old Chief raised his bow. A sudden noise startled him. Well he knew that sound. It was the sound of a paddle dipping in the water. Slowly the canoe came into sight, but how different from the birch bark canoe with which he was familiar. The canoe glided gracefully through the water with its fair-haired pale-faced occupant. Presently voices were heard and more canoes appeared until the twilight seemed full of gay chatter and laughter. As he looked the last ray of light faded into darkness and the first twinkling star appeared. Listlessly the bow fell to the old chief ' s side and a feeling of homesickness and regret came over him. Why did I, James Quonopohit, proud Sachem of the Saugus tribe of Indians, sign the deed which gave this fair land to the white man, he muttered, and wrapping his blanket closer about him, he turned sadly away and disappeared in the dark- ness.

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THE W. H. S. DEBATER The mingling of a thousand melodies. Combining in the grand crescendoes peal : Here factories reverberate with sound. The elevated grinds its ceaseless roar — Th ' accompaniment of grim bare-handed Toil, That from the under-world lifts up its voice : Hark to the song of furnace and forge Worthy the salt of hire. Ringing the rythm of writhing steel White from the embered fire, — Ho, mighty the sons of Vulcan are we. Guarding the mouth of hell — Bellows and anvil and white-curved steel Yield to the muscle ' s swell. Ho, for the blast of the burning forge. Glowing with sparkling steel ; Bronze muscles dripping with iron sweat Grind fate beneath the heel, — Let who will work with harrow and plough And turn the red-brown sod — But forge and furnace and pulsing strength - These are the gifts of God ! So from the forge and furnace. Toil lifts up The joyous voice of duty well performed. While deep from the horizn ' s pale-streaked rim In answering refrain grim labor sounds : Ho, for the life of the bridge-builders High on the girder ' s length. Sky above and the river below And only one man ' s strength. But strength of the strong and the fearless. Courage that cannot fail At each swing of the derrick ' s lifting. Each stroke of hammered nail. Muscle and sinew and brawney strength Poised ' twixt heaven and earth ; They were worthy Mothers of Men, tha Women who gave us birth — Yet swinging high on the swaying beam. We risk with careless grace That life of the iron strength and toil — Ho, what is death to face ! Thus ruthlessly the Sons of Toil give life And limb for structured steel, content to sing Their strain in the World ' s chorus until Death Shall break them on the wheel ; content to teach By their exampled lives the nation ' s strength Upon the strength of man depending, ' till That day when Capital and Labor shall Combine, and Science stooping from her height Shall join her hand with theirs, in unison To lift from groveling man the horny hand, Of Toil, to smooth the wrinkles of his care. And show to after-worlds that shall unfold The unit strength of man protecting man. Lo, ' tis the song of the World-Chorus, The measured beat of care. Filled with the sorrow of life and love Bitter the heart to bear — Triumphing over the strife of toil. Deathless with hope and peace. Word of the God of Eternity Song of the soul ' s release.