of 
 
ANTHOLOGY 
 
 OF 
 
 MANUAL ARTS VERSE 
 
 Edited by 
 GROVE BROWN 
 
 Published by 
 
 ALUMNI ASSOCIATION 
 
 MANUAL ARTS HIGH SCHOOL 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
Of this edition hut 250 copies 
 
 have been printed, this being \ 
 
 ....& ^p- 
 
 Copyrighted I92Z "''■ 
 MANUAL ARTS ALMUMNl ASSOCIATION 
 
 VAN VELZER BROS. PRINT 
 
 etc 21 ^^^^©ci A 6 906 4 4 
 
 --•va<) 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Ralph Cleveland 
 
 Alma Mater 6 
 
 Trail of the Sunset 7 
 
 The Naiad's Kiss 8 
 
 To the Ocean 9 
 
 The Hunter's Song 10 
 
 A Viking Son 11 
 
 California : 12 
 
 Isle of Mists 13 
 
 To Stevenson , 14 
 
 Jose Rodriguez 
 
 Sonnet to Helen 15 
 
 To Helen's Portrait 16 
 
 Sonnet to My Mother 17 
 
 Sonnet to a Baby 18 
 
 To 19 
 
 Triolet 20 
 
 James Doolittle 
 
 Lines to a Merciful Teacher -_11 21 
 
 Betty Dick Frazee 
 
 Cheer 22 
 
 Chant to the Imps 23 
 
 Penstamens 24 
 
 Night and the Sea 25 
 
 A Prayer 26 
 
 To a Bee •_ 27 
 
 Clarence Osborne 
 
 The Weaver 28 
 
Contents (Cent.) 
 
 Kenzo Kiiibota 
 
 biiig, My Little Cricket 30 
 
 Grove Brown 
 
 Chinatown 32 
 
 Ynez Lowe 
 
 I Long to Dance on the Sea 33 
 
 John Jackson 
 
 Humanity and Fate 34 
 
 Wendell Phillips Gladden, Jr. 
 
 'Cause I's Be'n Borned Ag'in 36 
 
 Dreaming 37 
 
 Jo Leavitt 
 
 Night 38 
 
 Henry Reinecke 
 
 In Reverie 39 
 
 Playmates ■ 40 
 
 Memories 41 
 
 Raymond Jones 
 
 • For Liberty 42 
 
 At Twilight 44 
 
 Night — 46 
 
 Adventures of Andy 47 
 
 Phil Reynolds 
 
 Spring's a Comin' 48 
 
Contents (Cont.) 
 
 Mary Jane Beekmsm 
 
 The Violet 50 
 
 Don Bullis 
 
 An Epitaph 51 
 
 Helen Newton 
 
 The Rosebud 52 
 
 Jack Du Bois 
 
 French-Heel Lass 54 
 
 Elizabeth Gallagher 
 
 Night — 55 
 
 Violet Wilson 
 
 To My Dream Child 56 
 
 The Wind 57 
 
 Louise Hackett 
 
 Evening 58 
 
 Dorothy Gilbreth 
 
 Seeking 59 
 
 Josephine Gidley 
 
 Evening Picture 60 
 
 Lizabel Hemenes 
 
 The Fallen Monarch 61 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 Believing that much verse written by High School 
 students has real merit, but is lost to the general 
 public thru the manner of its publication, the Alum- 
 ni Association of Manual Arts High School has 
 brought together in this Anthology representative 
 types of verse, deliberately including a few in no- 
 ticeably lighter vein, written by students of the 
 school during the years 1911 to 1922, inclusive. 
 
 Since lack of space forbids a complete collection of 
 the work of the time covered, it is not to be assumed 
 that verse omitted from this little volume is of lesser 
 quality. 
 
 It is hoped that the efforts of the Alumni Associa- 
 tion in publishing this book will meet with a response 
 that will justify a larger and more comprehensive 
 collection in the near future. 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 ALMA MATER 
 
 The splendor of the rising day 
 
 In purple glory falls, 
 And bathes in liquid flaming fire 
 Thy opalescent walls. 
 
 All hail, our Alma Mater dear. 
 The purple and the gray; 
 
 All hail, our Alma Mater dear. 
 Forever and a day. 
 
 At eve the golden sunshine melts. 
 One last — one fond caress; 
 
 Then, sad to lose the sight of thee. 
 The slow sun sinks to rest. 
 
 O Manual, all our voices rise 
 
 In tribute to thy fame; 
 O Manual, may we ever bring 
 
 But honor to thy name! 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE SUNSET 
 
 Old boss, we've loped for many a mile, 
 
 On the road called Life, 
 We've swung along on the perilous pike, 
 
 Thru storm and strife; 
 And we're always together, in good or bad weather, 
 
 We're always a'lopin' along by ourselves, 
 On the trail of the sunset, far away. 
 
 Thru the silver and gold, the black and the gray, 
 Jest you and I, old boss. 
 
 What care we for the world outside? 
 
 Its a bad old place; 
 As long as you're you, and as long as I'm I, 
 
 We'll run our race. 
 And we'll stick together, whatever the weather. 
 
 We'll hustle along by ourselves. 
 Till we're lost in the sunset, far away. 
 
 In the silver and gold, the black and the gray, 
 Jest you and I, old boss. 
 
 And when we have passed thru the mist of years, 
 
 A-lopin' along. 
 When we've left behind the sighs and the tears, 
 
 And the laugh and the song. 
 We'll still be together, a-bravin' the weather. 
 
 And swingin' along by ourselves, 
 A-lopin' up over the Great Divide, 
 
 To the valley of Peace, on the other side. 
 Jest you and I, old boss. 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 THE NAIAI^lS klSs ' 
 
 I knelt by a brook in a mountainous wol^^ri , v.^, .,,.?^ ' 
 
 Where the waters leap downward , in fold ; on f old ; ,;v 
 
 I thought of wild Pan as it chuckled along, 
 
 With a lilt, and a swing, and a catch of a song. ' 
 
 The cool of the hills threaded sweet in my veins. 
 
 As the green of the mold swept along in the lanes. 
 
 When the city lay dead in the dust 'neath the suni 
 
 And the heart heard the call where the merry brooks run. 
 
 So I knelt by the brook, and I drank of its flow, 
 
 'Twas as sweet to my lips as the murmuring low 
 
 Of the winds as they soothingly blow thru the corn 
 
 In the soft blushing haze of a summery hiorn,' ■ ' 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 ,m=-/^ ftiH.- 
 
 TO THE OCEAN 
 
 Roll on, thou mighty organ whose vast notes 
 
 Are the eternal pounding? of thy surf ; 
 
 Thy voice the heavens and their zodiac. 
 
 Thou voice of God.-^sotibrous tone, 
 
 Thy scale is froni;the seajbed to the skies; 
 
 Thy pipes, the winds that moan across thy heaving bosom; 
 
 And thy muse — The Infinite. 
 
 Organ divine! roll thy immortal harmonies 
 
 Unto the boundless fiirmamerit. 
 
 Let thy majestic music be an hymn eternal, 
 
 Sounding Creation's anthem , 
 
 Forever and Forever. 
 
10 RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 THE HUNTER'S SONG 
 
 Away, away to the mountain glens, 
 
 Away to the silent places, 
 Away to the moss thatched secret fens, 
 
 Draped round with filmy laces. 
 
 Heigh-ho, heigh-ho for the hunter's life. 
 
 And the song of waters falling; 
 I hasten away from the world of strife 
 
 For a voice in the woods is calling. 
 
 Gurgle of waters stealing, stealing, 
 
 Over the stones and through the ferns; 
 
 Little foam castles wheeling, wheeling. 
 Built by the falling waters' churns. 
 
 Away, away to the glints and glooms 
 That blink the green trees under; 
 
 Away to the isles and thousand rooms 
 
 Where the wood-elves dream in wonder. 
 
 Cool are the breezes sighing, sighing. 
 
 In through the pine boughs straight and tall, 
 
 Faint as a whisper dying, dying, 
 Faint as a far off hunter's call. 
 
 Bound of the deerhound fleeting, fleeting. 
 Crack of the rifle sharp and sure. 
 
 Tense are the heartstrings beating, beating, 
 Born of the wild in the hunter's lure. 
 
 Call of the wildwood brewing, brewing, 
 Notes for the hunter's lilting song, 
 
 Sweet is a lover's wooing, wooing, 
 
 And sweet is the hunter's ringing song. 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 11 
 
 A VIKING'S SON 
 
 A Viking's blood runs in my veins, 
 
 And kin am I to the mighty Danes 
 
 Who sailed their ships on the northen flood, 
 
 Daring the waves with their stubborn blood. 
 
 I feel the ancient clang of sword, 
 
 I see my kinsmen pross the fjord; 
 
 The battle-ax gleams in the cool grey dawn, 
 
 The hide-bound shield on the arm of brawn. 
 
 And I am there in the battle fray. 
 
 Hungry to feel the keen sword-play. 
 
 The biting steel leaps from its sheath, 
 
 A song of strife leaps from the teeth 
 
 Of warrior-kings, the sons of Thor, 
 
 Grim with the lust of greedy war. 
 
 I laugh as I see the foe go down. 
 
 Struck with war-god's deadly frown. 
 
 Dread vultures wheel o'er the field of dead, 
 
 Screaming their joy at the carnage red; 
 
 And I laugh aloud as the vultures fly 
 
 In the circling blue of the northern sky, 
 
 For I am a prince, a Viking's son. 
 
 Proud of my race, afraid of none. 
 
12 RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 I know a place where the wind blows free, 
 Where the breezes croon in the red wOod tree; 
 Where a brook leaps by, with a laugh and a 
 
 cry. 
 And far overhead in the aziire sky 
 Circles the bird of liberty, 
 
 I know a place where the daisies dwell. 
 
 In a cool, sequestered, fairy dell; 
 
 Where the skylark sings, as it gently swings, 
 
 Where the axe of the woodsman never rings 
 
 Through the leafy glades like a distant knell. 
 
 I know a place where the woods are deep, 
 Where the sentinel pines guard o'ever my 
 
 sleep; 
 Where the wind-breath sighs, as it slowly dies, 
 When the round, yellow moon begins to rise, 
 And far through the heavens slowly creep. 
 
 I know a place where the poppies grow. 
 Where the honey-bee murmurs soft and low; 
 Where the streams are clear, and the foxes 
 
 peer 
 From coverts of green at the shy, red deer. 
 In the land of the golden glow. 
 
RALPH CLEVELAND 13 
 
 ISLE OF MISTS 
 
 I go to the Isle of Mists, 
 
 In a hazy sea afar, 
 
 Where never a mortal ship can sail. 
 
 O'er the white capped, foaming bar. 
 
 'Tis here where the lake lies sad, 
 
 Hid in the mist and the rain, 
 
 And the cataract leaps o'er the mountain wall 
 
 And turns into mist again. 
 
 'Tis here where the tall trees weep, 
 
 And hang their heads in woe. 
 
 And the black, black clouds are overhead, 
 
 And the sullen winds below. 
 
 'Tis here where the spirit dies; 
 The soul that despair has kissed; 
 For this is the Isle of the Broken Heart, 
 The shadowy Isle of the Mists. 
 
14 RALPH CLEVELAND 
 
 TO STEVENSON 
 
 Dreamer of dreams in a world of strife. 
 Vision wide for the good in life, 
 Seer of worth in the common lot, 
 Man of the high-born holy thought; 
 Heart-whole and child-pure, 
 Son of the land of heather-moor; 
 Weaver of fancy's luring web. 
 High tide, and no ebb. 
 
 Voice of the old-world majesty. 
 Voice of the new world minstrelsy; 
 Prose that slips, and runs, and glides 
 Fresh as the breeze from amber tides; 
 Gold true, and diamond fine. 
 Sweet as the breath of eglantine, 
 Woodland tang, and wildwood call 
 And graceful sweep of the waterfall; 
 Sombre sweet, with wholesome fun. 
 Child of the world is Stevenson. 
 
JOSE RODRIGUEZ 15 
 
 SONNET, TO HELEN 
 
 In the twilight, in the early gloom of night, 
 
 Within sounds of flowing waters in the wood, 
 
 I often meet you, Helen. It is good 
 
 To see you there — mysterious, in the half-light 
 
 Of the star-strewn fields of heaven. And as bright. 
 
 As luminous, the serious eyes that brood 
 
 There in your passion-paled face beneath the hood 
 
 Held close about you, cloud-woven, white — 
 
 The fragrant memory of our love draws closer, when, 
 
 Dwelling in my dreams and fantasies, I often meet 
 
 You thus. The tender homage each the other rendered, then 
 
 I rehearse in my musings. And breathlessly allow my pen 
 
 To guide me once more thru the wonder-sweet, 
 
 Dim paths of yesterday, and leave the world to other men. 
 
16 JOSE RODRIGUEZ 
 
 TO HELEN'S PORTRAIT 
 
 My little lady, sweet and fair, 
 How gracefully thou sittest there! 
 To me thou art the flower most rare 
 That ever graced the sylvan air. 
 
 So gently wistful are thine eyes — 
 Like misty depths of autumn skies 
 When Night reluctant fades and dies, 
 And mystic Darkness westward flies. 
 
 The chaste line of thy cheek is pure, 
 And sweet thy tender lips, demure. 
 What lover's heart could long endure 
 Against their wondrous, artless lure? 
 
 The dove-like vision of thy hands. 
 Whose touch my happiness commands! 
 They hold me fast by magic bands. 
 As if by wave of fairy wands. 
 
 Thy gentle image doth set free 
 The pinioned wings of Ecstasy. 
 My fettered fancy finds the key, 
 And liberty is once more given me. 
 
JOSE RODRIGUEZ 17 
 
 SONNET, TO MY MOTHER 
 
 Thy slender shoulders bowed before the blast 
 
 Of ceaseless toil; thine eyes undaunted, brave. 
 
 Full of the mystic wonder of the love thou hast 
 
 Never denied and given free to those who crave, 
 
 I see thee now, my Mother. I have found at last 
 
 The sorrow of the reaping that the joy of sowing gave, 
 
 And the endless straws of gleaning now fear I, aghast, 
 
 Knowing that the last of them I'll gather in the grave. 
 
 But yet I know, where'er I turn, that thou'lt be there 
 
 With the words I long to hear, and the smile I've never seen 
 
 On any other lips. So gently tender and so rare. 
 
 Thou art my shelter and my refuge from all care, 
 
 Sweet Mother. The thought of thee, fearless, serene, 
 
 I cherish, for it makes the evil world about me fair. 
 
18 JOSE RODRIGUEZ 
 
 SONNET, TO A BABY 
 
 At what dost twitter there, with roguish smile, 
 
 Thou happy babe? What comic thing dost see 
 
 That prompts those outbursts of cherubic glee? 
 
 And why, that sudden change to tearful wile 
 
 Used with such nicety of judgment to beguile 
 
 Thine anxious mother from her labor to amuse thee? 
 
 Thou surely knowest her weakness to perfection of degree 
 
 From whose young life thou'st made of sorrow an exile. 
 
 The mystery, the mighty wisdom thou dost hide 
 
 Behind those bits of clear heaven in thine eyes, 
 
 I, envious, grudge thee. In mine, died 
 
 That godliness a while ago. At my side 
 
 I find now grosser things. But in the skies 
 
 And babies' eyes my soul has found a guide. 
 
JOSE RODRIGUEZ 19 
 
 TO 
 
 Your memory is like a theme 
 
 Forever singing in my heart. 
 And often in a dream 
 
 Of some unutterable art, 
 It fills the air with vagrant 
 
 Petal-laden breezes from th« south. 
 With nards and spices fragrant. 
 
 Like warm kisses from your mouth. 
 And when the day passes and the twilight 
 
 Tiptoes out into the west, 
 It leaves me to the harmony of night, 
 
 Knowing I shall find my joy in rest. 
 
20 JOSE RODRIGUEZ 
 
 TRIOLET 
 
 (To a Little Friend, Aged Two) 
 
 Your loveliness gives birth to things. 
 
 Unutterable within my heart. 
 
 Your loveliness gives birth to things — 
 
 Ecstasies, that never skylark soaring sings. 
 
 Nor dewy Morning's freshness brings, 
 
 Nor any human art. 
 
 Your loveliness gives birth to things, . 
 
 Unutterable within my heart. 
 
JAMES DOOLITTLE 21 
 
 Lines Addressed To A Merciful Teacher 
 
 Poor, lowly, cowerin' scholar. 
 Oh! What a panic's in thy collar! 
 Thou need not study awa sae hasty 
 
 With thy Geomitree! 
 I wad not see thy teacher flunk thee, 
 
 With big red D. 
 
 I'm truly sorry teacher's dominion 
 Has broken nature's social union, 
 And justifies that ill opinion. 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 
 
 And fellow mortal! 
 
 I doubt not whiles but thee may pass; 
 What then? Poor boy, thou maun live! 
 Do all thy studying right in my class, 
 
 Is a sma' request. 
 I'll give a blessin' as you pass 
 
 And never miss't! 
 
22 BETTY DICK FRAZEE 
 
 "CHEER" 
 
 I would not pine 
 
 For there are those that love me, 
 
 I would not weep 
 
 For there are those that need my cheer, 
 
 I would not sigh 
 
 For skies are blue above me. 
 
 And there is music 
 
 Everywhere to hear. 
 
BETTY DICK FRAZEE 23 
 
 CHANT TO THE IMPS 
 
 The devil is gray, the devil ig red; 
 Sometimes he's alive and sometimes dead, 
 He's green and slippery like lizard's slime 
 Oh! the devil's a great old pai of mine, 
 lie makes a bed of gleaming coals, 
 And stuffs m dead men's long-lost souls; 
 And he sings this song as he jigs about, 
 "I've stuffed you in and you can't come out. 
 Oh! I've stuffed you in and you can't come out!" 
 
24 BETTY DICK FRAZEE 
 
 PENSTAMENS 
 
 Penstamens, gray and asiire-eyed and tall, 
 Are fragmentary thoughts of poesy 
 Brought by a vagabonding breeze to me 
 And scattered here beside my old stone wall- 
 Chambers to hold the roving bees iii thrall. 
 Full often at the golden noontide hour 
 I've heard the captives singing in their tow 
 And thought of David playing for King Saul. 
 
 O harbingers of Summer, I would make 
 
 My heart a prison tower for vagrant song 
 
 Where weird and wandering melodies might throng 
 
 Like thy fair clustering bells in Sringtime's wa^'~ 
 Who knows, I might prove captor to a tone 
 Sweeter than David's music, or thy own. 
 
BETTY DICK FRAZEE ^5 
 
 NIGHT AND THE SEA 
 
 Night slunk down in the valley, 
 
 And hid in the bushes there. 
 
 The birdlings flew while the west wind grew 
 
 And sailed thru the mid-night air. 
 
 The clouds banked high in the murky sky, 
 
 Huddled over the sere gray lee. 
 
 When out of the west from the wild winds' breast, 
 
 Came rumbling the mighty sea — 
 
 Came rumbling and mightily fumbling 
 
 The wan white moon on his breast; 
 
 Then surged to the east like a man-hunted beast. 
 
 And broke on the cliffs' rugged crest. 
 
26 BETTY DICK FRAZEE 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 Oh! Sun in the east awake me 
 With thots for a better life, 
 Oh I teach me to love my labor^ 
 To conquer the odds of strife; 
 To look with faith towards heaven. 
 To feel and to understand 
 The wonder of God's Creation, 
 The Wisdom of God's Command, 
 
 Oh! teach me to love my neighbor. 
 To do with my hands God's work; 
 To love, to learn and to labor 
 And never a moment shirk. 
 Help me to know the greatness. 
 Teach me to understand 
 The Wonder of God's Creation, 
 The Wisdom of God's Command. 
 
BETTY DICK FRAZEE 27 
 
 TO A BEE 
 
 Ah! Brown Brother Bee, 
 In your cassack of gold, 
 Some mystery lies hidden 
 In yon butter-cup. 
 
 Hesitate for a moment 
 On the gleaming threshhold 
 And ask her the reason 
 She always looks up. 
 
 Drink deep of the nectar 
 From red roses' lips 
 The honey-dewed potion 
 The golden sun sips. 
 
 Then wash off thy stains 
 In the crystalline dew. 
 And dust off your garments 
 To start all anew. 
 
 Ah! Brown Brother Bee, 
 I wish I were you, 
 With nothing but flying 
 And flirting to do. 
 
28 CLARENCE OSBORNE 
 
 THE WEAVER 
 
 I am a dreamer of dreams, 
 A weaver of gossamer strands, 
 I am a gazer in crystal streams, 
 A moulder of castles in sand. 
 
 You may startle me out of my dreaming, 
 You may call me a waster of time, 
 But the thoughts will come back a'teeming 
 And I'll dream the dreams that are mine. 
 
 You may sever my silken web so thin. 
 
 You may scorn my shimmdring threads; 
 
 Yet through the days of my life, I'll contine to spin 
 
 'Till my soul and I are dead. 
 
 Muddy the stream with your wading, 
 
 Yet I'll stay by its edge and wait. 
 
 And the stream will clear, as day goes fading 
 
 Out at the western gate. 
 
CLARENCE OSBORNE 29 
 
 Wreck my buildings of sand, 
 Call them whims if you will; 
 Some day, I say, a house will stand, 
 A house on the highest hill. 
 
 So startle, sever, muddy or wreck, 
 I'll dream, I'll gaze, and I'll build, 
 And I'll not heed a disturbing beck 
 'Till death says my task's fulfilled. 
 
 For I am a dreamer of dreams, 
 A weaver of gossomer strands, 
 I am a gazer in crystal streams, 
 A moulder of castles in sand. 
 
30 KENZO KUBOTA 
 
 SING, MY LITTLE CRICKET! 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 The twilight grey is near; 
 At the grassy bank of a murmuring brook. 
 
 On the meadow green where the air is clean. 
 Sing, my little criket, 
 
 In the heart of the nature dear I 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 The silent night is deep; 
 The moon is smiling thru the crystal window 
 
 On a baby's face in peaceful sleep. 
 Sing, my little cricket, 
 
 Thy nature's promise to keep! 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 The dawn is rising from the night; 
 When roosters crow, in a quiet hut 
 
 The mother is seen, working thru the dim light. 
 Sing, my little cricket, 
 
 For the coming sunshine bright! 
 
KEN20 KUBOTA 31 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 The windy day is old; 
 A youth is toiling in a russet field, 
 
 And plowing the barren soil at the wold, 
 Sing, my little cricket. 
 
 The youthful thot to unfold! 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 Ever sweetly as a lover, 
 Ever in the morning, at the sunset, 
 
 Ever to the innocent, and to the striver. 
 Sing, my little cricket. 
 
 For life's melody forever! 
 
 Sing, my little cricket! 
 
 Thy song, being simple and clear, 
 Softly awakens the heart of a poet 
 
 With the eternal voices sweet to hear. 
 Sing, my little cricket. 
 
 In the heart of the nature dear! 
 
32 GROVE BROWN 
 
 CHINATOWN 
 
 A small green god with incense curling; 
 Wierd blue lights cast shadows whirling; 
 Squint eyed youths beat tom-toms muffled; 
 Thru the joss-house fat priests shuffled. 
 Night had just begun 
 
 In the den the smoke hung low; 
 A squeaky fiddle— A broken bow; 
 A soul was lost, an outcast made; 
 A youth unto the devil prayed ; 
 Night was almost done. 
 
 In the streets the wagons rattled; 
 In the gutters children prattled ; 
 From the den a.so^.l passed on; 
 From sordidness another gone. 
 Day had just begun. 
 
YNEZ LOWE 33 
 
 I LONG TO DANCE ON THE SEA 
 
 I long to dance from morn till night, 
 
 On the foam of the seething sea, 
 
 With head thrown back and tresses streaming, 
 
 Buoyant, bold, and free. 
 
 To skip and run, with the beams from the sun. 
 
 That glint on the waves all day, 
 
 And at night to float with the white birds winging 
 
 Over a moonlit bay. 
 
 What joy 'twould be, to dance on tlie sea, 
 
 On the foam of the seething sea, 
 
 With head thrown back and tresses streaming. 
 
 Buoyant, bold, and free. 
 
34 JOHN JACKSON 
 
 HUMANITY, GENERATION AFTER GEN- 
 ERATION, WAGES A NEVER-ENDING, 
 HOPELESS BATTLE AGAINST AN 
 
 UNCONQUERABLE FOE 
 
 She points, with withered hand, into the future. 
 Her back Is turned to hide the fading past; 
 
 She smiles, as men toil on into life's winter, 
 A cruel smile — she sees the die is cast. 
 
 So this is Fate, who sends men on life's journey 
 
 With promises of riches in the end, 
 Who, with her cunning ways and sly persuasions. 
 
 Leads men to seek for what lies 'round the bend. 
 
 And on they toil in eager expectation 
 
 Of what will be their own in days to come; 
 
 Their brows display the sweat of honest labor — 
 
 They work until their limbs are weak and numb. 
 
 The years take wing, and youth once strong and worthy 
 Is swiftly growing haggard, weak and old; 
 
 Not his to reap the harvest of his labors 
 But his to see the fast receding goal. 
 
JOHN JACKSON 35 
 
 lis tired nerves bring droop into his eyelids, 
 He knows that he will soon be passing out, 
 
 A.nd in his passing find that he was cheated. 
 Leaving behind uncertainty and doubt. 
 
 And Fate, so grim, stands resolute and scowling, 
 The years have gone the circuit once again 
 
 Fate has ever won by methods all confounding 
 The battle she has always waged with men. 
 
 'Twill always be, as long as men take chances. 
 And play the game with all the cards thrown 
 
 Experience, howe'er cruel, can never teach them 
 They play for stakes that thev can never win. 
 
36 WENDELL PHILLIPS GLADDEN, Jr. 
 
 'CAUSE VS BE'N BORNEO AG'IN 
 
 Ain't gwine er run wid sinners no mo,' 
 
 'Cause Fs be'n borned ag'in; 
 Ain't gwine er steal f'om de grocer sto,' 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in. 
 
 Tol' de preacher I's ter jine de ban,' ■.■.:. 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in; 
 Got mah eyes spt on de promis' Ian,' 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in. 
 
 Ah didn't kno' dis life wuz so sweet, 
 
 Tell Ah wuz borned ag'in; 
 Ah be'n baptized an' done washed mah feet, 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in. 
 
 Done turned mah back ter de dance hall, 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in; 
 Jest gwine er read 'bout David an' Saul, 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in. 
 
 Ah have gibbed de Lord mah soul ter keep, 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in; 
 Only waitin' fer dat peaceful sleep, 
 
 'Cause I's be'n borned ag'in. 
 
WENDELL PHILLIPS GLADDEN Jr. 37 
 
 DREAMING 
 
 Oh what is so sweet as the robin's song 
 
 And the music of streams as they glide along? 
 
 The violets blushing beside my feet 
 Are lovely and tender and just as sweet. 
 
 And what is so soft as the friendly breeze 
 That quietly sings and sighs thru the trees? 
 
 Your voice and your smiles set my heart at ease 
 Seem softer and sweeter than all of these. 
 
38 JO LEAVITT 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 To your calling I have answered, wondrous night. 
 
 All around thee clings the breath of blood-red flowers, 
 
 A white owl like a flake of moonlight 
 
 Floats across the sky. 
 
 Upon the soft, warm sand no step is heard, 
 
 Across the silver lighted valley 
 
 Lies a lake as black as ebony. 
 
 The bellowing of, a (Jeer in the distance 
 
 Or the squabbling of some bird for an instant in the thicket- 
 
 These only break thy silence, beauteous night. 
 
HENRY REINECKE 39 
 
 IN REVERIE 
 
 It's very sweet by the river side, 
 
 Where tall green flags with purple tops 
 
 Bend to a current that never stops; 
 
 And the level country stretches wide 
 
 On either side to meet the sky, 
 
 A dim gray port for the meadow's tide. 
 
 Swift-pointed arrows, the swallows fly, 
 
 Dip their wings in the cold, clear stream, 
 
 Then circle far. And I have my dream! 
 
 To dream alone — 'till my company 
 
 Becomes the winds of the night that stir 
 
 The tops of the poplars, straight and high. 
 
 And the silv'ry night is full of sighs — 
 
 Half-hushed whispers, that thrill and break 
 
 The deep-breathed stillness, as these winds shake 
 
 The leaves, 'till the wood's a conjuror 
 
 Of linked, lingering reveries 
 
 Of the shadowed past, and the days to rise. 
 
40 HENRY REINECKE 
 
 PLAYMATES 
 
 When I am playing underneath a tree, 
 
 I look around — and there he is with me! ,, 
 
 Among the shadows of the boughs he stands, ; 
 
 And shakes the leaves at m6 witti both his hands. 
 
 And then upon the mossy roots' we lie. 
 
 And watch the leaves make pictures on the sky. 
 
 And then we swihgfii'om bough,, t>P bipujgh— ,, 
 
 And never fall? I can't: remember now^i i:;'; ;i 
 
 The games ^I'pliayi^d With hihi'^ares always' best;'- 
 
 And yet we' canriot tea^li "tliem to'the rest.' 
 
 For when the others come to join our play— 
 
 I do?ii'tj..know why — but joy hag slippeid, ,^^ay. . , ,. 
 
 They ask me if we love^rl cannot stellar t-. • 
 
 But no one else can play ^vith'm'e?>S(3; well. - • ' 
 
HENRY REINECKE 41 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 stiller than where that city lies asleep, 
 
 With fabled spires deep in the surging sea, 
 
 Stiller and dimmer than that windless deep. 
 The pale-flowered field of memory. 
 
 I walked there with the thoughts of slong ago. 
 
 Dear thoughts and peerless of lobg-vanished days ; 
 
 And one drew close — the fairest tliat shall know 
 Their path ^t,hat , foljlpw down the faded ways. 
 
 "No more the blossoms o'er thy face,'' it said; 
 
 "Now is it heaven, h^re, where pale flowers be; 
 On shall I wknder,' mingled' with thfe dead. 
 
 But die hot, love, since' yqti remember me. 
 
42 RAYMOND JONES 
 
 FOR LIBERTY 
 
 Out of the East one flaming ijiorn 
 
 On a charger white as snow, new-fallen, 
 
 A brawny youth thru the mists of gray 
 
 Rode into the battle's thickest fray 
 
 Into the smoke and shot and shell, 
 
 Into that gaping, seething Hell! 
 
 And ne'er did he halt — his battle-cry 
 
 Rose to the clouds that floated on high, 
 
 Under the arch of the summer sky, 
 
 Knowing that his was to do and die. 
 
 And 'neath his swift steed's feet the sod 
 Flew fast and faster; spurred on by God 
 His place he took in the battle array. 
 And led in the charge that won the day 
 For Freedom and Democracy, 
 For Peace and righteous Liberty! 
 
RAYMOND JONES 43 
 
 Into the West there limped that night 
 A riderless charger with robe of white; 
 Head bowed in sorrow for one who was gone, 
 Heart with the master that spurred him at dawn 
 He who had ridden for Liberty's sake, 
 With a sword in his hand and a life at stake, 
 And a prayer on his lips for God to take 
 His comrades thru till the battle's break! 
 
 And when God drops His veil o'er the strife; 
 When the World is re-born with a brighter life, 
 May He grant those who fought in Liberty's fight 
 A statue to shine thru the darkness of Night 
 To bring to the slave a new-freedom's right, 
 And beacon to all with Liberty's light! 
 
44 RAYMOND J01MES 
 
 AT TWILIGHT 
 
 In the purple of the sunset 
 
 Comes to me a picture fair, 
 Of shining walls and violet, 
 
 With crimson here and there. 
 
 And the fragrance of the flowers 
 
 Wafted on the air serene, 
 Gently floats from rose-clad bowers 
 
 O'er verdant beds of green. 
 
 The twilight shades advancing, 
 
 Softly veil the arches white. 
 With stately sweep, encircling falls 
 
 The velvet robe of night. 
 
 But the picture has not faded; 
 
 'Tis treasured deep within our hearts. 
 And fore'er we'll hold it sacred. 
 
 Our own dear Manual Arts! 
 
 Now swiftly on Time's brazen wings 
 The golden seasons come and go. 
 
 We leave thy halls for bigger things; 
 We reap what e'er we sow. 
 
RAYMOND JONES 45 
 
 The busy changeful years have passed 
 Since we beheld that picture, rare; 
 
 New faces sail before the mast, 
 New voices everywhere! 
 
 Yet on and on Life sails 
 
 On the misty Sea of Tears, 
 Tho storm-tossed by un-numbered gales, 
 
 Triumphant thru the years. 
 
 Should we become disheartened, 
 May we not turn back to thee 
 
 And sail again with lightened hearts, 
 The Sea of Destiny! 
 
46 RAYMOND JONES 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 Dusk, and the soft breeze sighing, 
 
 Caresses the lonely lea. 
 Dusk, and the white gull crying, 
 
 Floats over the misty sea. 
 
 Night, and the stars are gleaming 
 From the black abyss above. 
 
 Night — and the World lies dreaming 
 Of the morrow — peace and love. 
 
RAYMOND JONES 47 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF ANDY 
 
 The tramp at eve had eaten his fill 
 Of pies from off the window sill! 
 He'd also taken an ample share 
 Of jewelry, wine, and silverware! 
 
 Weary and tedious was his flight 
 
 Thru the long hours of the night. 
 
 But when in his faraway lair he was hid, 
 
 From the jewelry box he lifted the lid! 
 
 And gazed at the diamonds and jewelry there, 
 
 Bracelets, and watches, and silverware! 
 
 But behold! the diamonds were made of glass; 
 
 His golden jewelry had turned to brass! 
 
 The silverware filled his- soul with disgust, 
 
 Where the silver should be there was naught but rust! 
 
 "Oh, I know now," he loudly sobbed, 
 
 " 'Twas a hock-shop keepers house I robbed!" 
 
 His sinking spirits he decided to prime, 
 In a "night-cap" or two, of the stolen wine! 
 But e'er the first couple of swallows he'd quaffed, 
 He threw down the bottle, strangled and coughed. 
 No "kerosene" wine could quench his thirst. 
 But he'd forgotten — t'was April the First! 
 
48 PHIL REYNOLDS 
 
 SPRING'S A COMIN' 
 
 Spring's a comin' soft an' easy; 
 Snow's a meltin' in the hills; 
 Spring air's movin' sort o' lazy, 
 An' the wind now seldom chills. 
 Sure! it's sort o' cloudy weather, 
 Heavy fog a oozin' spray, 
 But the breezes know we'd rather 
 Have the sun out any day. 
 
 So they blow right stiff an' gusty 
 
 In the mornin' an' by noon 
 
 We can see the ridges rusty 
 
 Where the snow is makin' room. 
 
 For the blossoms of the mountains. 
 
 Primrose, pink, an' modest blue; 
 
 An' the springs are gushin' fountains, 
 
 Cool refreshin' pards, to you. 
 
PHIL REYNOLDS 49 
 
 We sit dreamin' in the meadow, 
 While the snow bank clouds on high 
 Drift in billows castin' shadows 
 O'er the fields of sproutin' rye. 
 Sky's as blue between the whiteness 
 As that blue bird's breast up there; 
 You can see so far, the brightness 
 Makes you pause an say a prayer. 
 
 Well, you see at what I'm drivin,' 
 'Taint no use to try to work 
 When the spring is young an' thrivin,' 
 Why a boy's a natural shirk. 
 He can't spell or read or study, 
 In a school room all the time; 
 Place for him is by that muddy 
 Fishin' hole, with fishin' line. 
 
50 MARY JANE BEEKMAN 
 
 THE VIOLET 
 
 "O, timid little violet, 
 
 Why do you hide your head? 
 Come sip the dew from golden cup, 
 
 And look to Heaven's blue instead. 
 
 "Are you unconscious of your charms, 
 And hide your head in doubt? 
 
 Or are you mindful of some slight. 
 And stray away to pout? 
 
 Or, shy coquette! do you just want 
 Your charms to be sought out? 
 
 "Now tell me, pray, the reason why. 
 
 Let me not vainly call!" 
 Then softly Violet whispers back, 
 
 "I am afraid, that's all." 
 
DON BULLIS 51 
 
 AN EPITAPH 
 
 Here rests a noble soul, who far 
 O'er topped the common herd, 
 
 And did his bit for common men 
 In deeds — not words. 
 
 With flights of speech he never tried 
 To put to shame the birds; 
 
 But strove to teach his creed of love 
 With deeds — not words. 
 
 He lived to teach those in whom 
 The milk of kindness curds, 
 
 That peace on earth can only come 
 Thru deeds — not words. 
 
52 HELEN NEWTON 
 
 THE ROSEBUD 
 
 How fragrant is the rose 
 
 In the merry rnonth of June. 
 
 How perfect is 'each petal, ■ ••' ' 
 How entrancing her perfume. 
 
 The sun beams down upon her 
 From his lofty home on high. 
 
 The sweet rose is so happy, 
 She does not hear a sigh. 
 
 A bud beneath the rose, 
 
 Aias! is full of woe. 
 It is tired of being little. 
 
 It cannot wait tp grpw. 
 
 Gazing at the beauty 
 
 Of the big red rose, so rare. 
 She thought, "Someday will I 
 
 Be many times as fair. 
 
 The lords from lands afar 
 
 Will come to gaze at me. 
 
 Oh, when my time has come 
 
 What a charming rose I'll be. 
 
HELEN NEWTON 53 
 
 The sun will seek to pierce 
 
 His way into my heart, 
 But petals tightly folded . i , T: 
 
 Shall baffle all his art. 
 
 My beauty and my fragrance 
 Will travel with the wind. 
 
 A rose with such rich virtues 
 No one will ever find." 
 
 So dreamt the little rose-bud 
 
 Of days not far away. 
 When a person chancing by 
 
 Plucked her in passing play. 
 
 No more dreams little rose-bud, 
 No more she sighs to grow. 
 
 Her hopes have all been smothered, 
 They never more will glow. 
 
 Just as the rose-bud's visions 
 Wilted and died that day, 
 
 So do youth's fond fancies 
 Vanish and pass away. 
 
54 JACK Dubois 
 
 FRENCH-HEEL LASS 
 
 Blessings on thee, little maid, 
 
 With thy cheeks of unnatural shade! 
 
 With thy henna-tinted hair, 
 
 And thy figure passing fair; 
 
 If cool wind should kiss thy cheek 
 
 Thy freckles from beneath would peei 
 
 With thy red lips, redder still. 
 
 Kissed by lip-stick at your will; 
 
 With thy tunes of Dardanella, 
 
 And all dolled up to catch a fella; 
 
 With thy hose of silken sheen. 
 
 Oft' so thin scarce can be seen. 
 
 Blessings on thee, little maid. 
 
 The new for old, we would not trade. 
 
 In spite of all your faddy styles, 
 
 We are the victims of your wiles, 
 
 But wa'd the gods the giftie gie ye, 
 
 To see yoursel's as ithers see ye. 
 
ELIZABETH GALLAG. 55 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 The last sunbeams have scuttled home, 
 The chores are done and rest has come. 
 Night has cuddled the earth to sleep 
 And the sad old world has ceased to weep. 
 
 Mothers rock their play-tired children, 
 Who dream of fairies, and elfin kin, 
 As now and forever the moon looks down, 
 And caresses and smiles on the little town. 
 
56 VIOLET WILSON 
 
 TO MY DREAM CHILD 
 
 Little elfish creature 
 
 Merry all day long 
 Teasing, prancing, dancing, 
 
 With your lilting song. 
 Swaying just beyond me, 
 
 Laughing in my eyes, 
 Playing pranks upon me 
 
 Planning some surprise. 
 If I could but catch you; 
 Kiss your impish lips. 
 Hold you fast one moment. 
 
 Clasp your finger tips. 
 
 Joyous elfish creature, 
 
 Joyous ever after 
 Little elfish creature 
 
 Sprite of fun and laughter. 
 
VIOLET WILSON 57 
 
 THE WIND 
 
 Oh! Let me stand where the wild wind blows, 
 Sweeping the valleys and mounting the hills, 
 
 Swaying the pine tree and bowing the rose. 
 Throwing the brook into thousands of rills. 
 
 Oh! Let me feel the great rush of its power, 
 Whipping around me as onward it flies. 
 
 Rushing o'er plains to where mountains tower, 
 Bearing along the wild sea-gull's cries. 
 
 Oh! Let me know the uplift of strength. 
 Watching it plunging and breaking its path. 
 
 Over the meadow land's billowing length, 
 Spurting and lulling, a slave to its wrath. 
 
 And oh! As I watch it, I long to be free 
 
 From all of the worries and cares of the world. 
 
 To go, as the wind, the whole earth to see, 
 To scamper and dodge and merrily whirl. 
 
53 LOUISE HACKETT 
 
 EVENING 
 
 In the shadows of the river, 
 
 Where the deep mists gather low. 
 When the night bird's at his courting, 
 
 That is when I love to row. 
 
 Where the river's cool depths ripple, 
 
 Lillies on its bosom rest, 
 'Neath the rushes, in the starlight, 
 
 Form an opalescent crest. 
 
 Thru the trees the lights shine dimly. 
 On the warm wind comes the knell, 
 
 Echoing softly across the water. 
 Of a sweet toned convent bell. 
 
 Farther, farther, down the river. 
 Softly floating on we go. 
 
 Ever drifting, as we wonder. 
 Why it is we love it so. 
 
DOROTHY GILBRETH 59 
 
 SEEKING 
 
 I am not lonely, Love, as I might be, 
 
 Tho uncompanioned thru the world I roam. 
 
 For more than ever seems the earth my home 
 
 Since thou hast gone to dwell eternally, 
 
 In its dim shades, and tho I seek for thee 
 
 Nor find thee in the old familiar place, 
 
 Yet still there lives some semblance of thy face 
 
 In each wee flower that e'er looks up to me. 
 
 They are thy kin, and hence they must be mine. 
 
 These flowers, these grasses, and these leaves that reach 
 
 Toward me, like thy soul in those old days. 
 
 And I have learned to love their quaint ways. 
 
 And caught some syllable of their soft speach, 
 
 Still listening for that sweet voice of thine. 
 
60 JOSEPHINE GIDLEY 
 
 EVENING PICTURE 
 
 At the close of day when the shadows fall 
 
 With dark'ning gloom o'er the white arcades, 
 
 And the sunlight gleams reflect their tints 
 
 In the window panes, then slowly fade 
 
 To a sombre lead hue and vanish away; 
 
 A silence as deep as the day is long 
 
 Fastens its charms on building and field, 
 
 And the halls in their emptiness breathe of rest; 
 
 The rooms with books and maps laid by 
 
 But echo the sounds of the closing day. 
 
 Across from the buildings the bleachers loom 
 
 And shadow the field in its loneliness, 
 
 And out in the shops are the belts and wheels. 
 
 But the whir of their work is quiet at last. 
 
 In the garden the roses are covered with dew, 
 
 The paths are forsaken, the benches are bare. 
 
 For the evening has come when the life of the day 
 
 Must sleep in repose till the dawn of the new. 
 
LIZABEL HEMENES 61 
 
 THE FALLEN MONARCH 
 
 On the rock coast of an ancient shore, 
 
 Where the great waves roll with a mightj^ roar. 
 
 Where the gulls swoop down with a piercing cry, 
 
 And the wild wind gasps in a pleading sigh — 
 
 On a promontory jagged and old 
 
 Paused the king of the forest, staunch and bold. 
 
 As the wolves dashed out from the underbrush 
 
 In a mad, scrambling, headlong rush. 
 
 With his great paws tearing the time-worn shore 
 
 He raised his prayer in a mighty roar, 
 
 Then the waters closed o'er a king dethroned 
 
 While the wolves and the wind a requiem moaned. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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