Westmont Hilltop Senior High School - Phoenician Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

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And went back to ’64 with you— ’Twas at the White House, and standing near The presence of an extremely plain man Stood one brave soldier, quaking with fear Lest his mother should hear of his sentence. In simple words he told how, craving for rest He fell asleep, despite his duty of guard. Lincoln, hearing him and trusting him, Sent him hack to his post, pardoned. That instance Brought to light the merciful, broad-minded man The brother and father of human race. As he sat then, so he seems to sit now Pardoning and forgiving our daily wrong.— We then saw him after the triumph of his speeches Talking modestly, and ever the same Surrounded by wonder and awe-struck men. You, Lincoln, lead our boys through the World War Just as you did long ago. For your sake They fought. You are the Captain still steering Our ship of State in the great ocean of Life. You sail alone,—guiding your crew—the States, You lived in Life’s garden of heroes. You sail now on Life’s ocean of men— Leading us, guiding us, as our Savior. Oh, Lincoln, what can we say to you? No one can understand our trifling words— They must go to you, see, and commune with you To feel the thrill that comes when in your home. Feelings are far greater than words, so now We merely say—we came—we saw— Were imbued with the sanctity of life As you portray it. We know our lives have been made Purer, richer and nobler, since entering Your home of white. HATH FRINK L. KRIEGER, ’23. THE GOLDEN ROD There’s a dandy tall big fellow, Who dresses all in yellow— In yellow with a covering of green; With his hair ail crisp and curly, In the autumn bright and early. As dancing o’er the meadow he is seen. Bright and sandy, tall, big dandy. Golden dancer of each dell! Green and yellow, happy fellow, All the children love him well. But at length this tall big fellow Doffs his dandy coat of yellow, And, scattered everywhere upon the green, Tiny spots of black and brown are seen; For the North wind takes his toll On each spot in every knoll. From the golden rod so fair It takes his yellow hair, And leaves instead of yellow A dark brown wasted fellow. SARAH ENGELHARDT, '26. THE MAGIC FOOT OF COLUMBUS Ye foot, whose magic touch frights fear away— Fear lest we go unbound by wedlock to our graves. Have pity on us doubtful and uncertain ones. Grant us but one slight touch of shining bronze Which may, ’tis said, as some fair morning dawns. Bring to our hearts the hero of our destiny. Thy once dull foot, Columbus, is worn bright By superstitutious fools like me whose plight Decreed by fate remains unaltered and unchanged. MARJORIE REYNOLDS, ’23. Inspired by the foot of Columbus on the bronze doors of the National Capital. One touch guarantees married life.

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WITH THE BELLS Think when the bells do chime, ’tis angels’ music period, O wonderful bell! O beautiful bell! () merciful bell, I I thank you again and again and again For the good deed you’ve done me this day. The subject was Latin, The work was translating. When lo! On the stuffy hot air You brought forth peal after peal after peal, And I sank with a sigh to my chair. JANE CLARK. '25. TO OUR GRADUATES Let me say just a word or two In memory of our Seniors true. Your departure is felt by all, You whom the world saw fit to call. It takes you from our Senior class And places you among the mass. Though your joys are somewhat ended And your many trials begin, Strive to live by all that’s in you, And through your efforts you shall win. Cheer up, old pals, for all must pass Into the world from their Senior class. MARGARET ROACH, '24. THE CLASSES Some ignorant Freshman, oh, so green— So small that they can hardly be seen; Some saucy Sophomores in a bunch That always give us a nutty hunch; Some funny Juniors, pry and perk, Always working with a jerk; And some bright old Seniors, very shy— Help to make up Westmont High. ROBERT CROOKS, ’26. 9f say! POETS MEMORIES We are wading in the brook, laughing brook. Leaves are rustling in the breeze. Mothers watching from a nook, shady nook— Just memories. Love is sparkling in those eyes, dreamy eyes, ’Neath the daintily perfumed trees. Two are breathing many sighes, lovers’ sighes— Just memories. Cool and sweet the summer day, lovely day, Winds are sighing through the leaves. There I watch my children’s play, merry play— Just memories. Now my hair is turning white, snowy white, My book lies idle on my knees. While I’m dreaming through the night, lonely night— Golden—memories. VIOLA PROUDFOOT, ’23. ON FIRST SEEING THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL To you, who, from a distance, beckons us Come and commune with your sacred self, we speak In humble words; of your human self We knew but little before, but now we Feel we know you as you were; you sit there As we think you sat in life, grave and calm. Drawing to you and guiding the untold Numbers who come to you for aid. Before Going to you, we thought of you as dead, but Lincoln, you are not dead, you will live on As you live now. and lived in the past Leading the Union, and all human beings In the trials of every-day life. We lived centuries in those few minutes— Cast under your spell, we forgot our own lives

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Commencement Week June June June June June June Methodist Church 9 Junior-Senior Dance Baccalaureate Sermon Rev. McWilliams Class Play Picnic Commencement Alumni Banquet