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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 18
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Enm'r G. ANDERSON, Editor-in-Chief Gnu Juan, Juan-a nouns. Literary Editor: Mame: Hm, Hoke-Up Egiitor Tnom Sun-nu, Imam Noam, Business Menage" w fGamble of Gontents Pogo THE DIAL, an apology, by Ernest G. Anderson ..................................................... .. 1...
Show moreTHE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Enm'r G. ANDERSON, Editor-in-Chief Gnu Juan, Juan-a nouns. Literary Editor: Mame: Hm, Hoke-Up Egiitor Tnom Sun-nu, Imam Noam, Business Menage" w fGamble of Gontents Pogo THE DIAL, an apology, by Ernest G. Anderson ..................................................... .. 1 A LEN'I‘EN HYMN, by Prof. P. A. Sveeggenl,........k... . 2 A CERTAIN CENTURIAN, a story, by Thomas Spande._..,,.... . m- .. 8 THE NEW DORM SYMPHONY, an essay, by Judith Homme .............................. -. 5 TO A BIRCH TREE, a poem, by Grace Jensen .......................................................... .- 5 IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD, by Carl Solberg, ’36 ............... .............................. .. 6 WORSHIP IN COLLEGE, an essay, by Ernest G. Anderson POOR PROMETHEUS, a narrative, by Maurice Helland .................. 1. .......... n...“ 9 THE HEART OF GITCHEE GUMME, by Ruth Bower, ’35 .................................. .. 10 BLUE RIVER MIST, a poem, by Judith Homme. ............................................... ._ 11 WHEN BJﬂRN MET THE BEAR, a narrative, by Bjorn Nielsen ................... .. l2 TODAY, an essay, by Elsie M. Tollefson-.....--... 13 BROKEN SHELLS, by Suniram Drahnreb ........................................................... _._ 13 EDITORIALLY SPEAKING ...... .. 16 INTERPRETATION, a poem, by Maurice Helland...-._......-_.._m__.._.‘.-b-...___-._...-- 15 Published by the Augsburg College Writers Club, Minneapolis, Minnesota
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 06
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 4 THE DIAL to lend their voices to the Hosannas and other shouts of approval that greeted the hero of the day. Cornelius drew his guard aside. “This must be the young Jewish prophet who causes the Sanhedrin so much trouble. Well, it is none of our business. Come, men.” The day was hot and sultry....
Show more4 THE DIAL to lend their voices to the Hosannas and other shouts of approval that greeted the hero of the day. Cornelius drew his guard aside. “This must be the young Jewish prophet who causes the Sanhedrin so much trouble. Well, it is none of our business. Come, men.” The day was hot and sultry. Even the palms were wilting with the waves of heat brought by the east wind. 0 t O Today there was to be a triple cruciﬁxion, and the road to Golgotha was crowded. As the three doomed men stumbled along, Cornelius and his soldiers kept back the morbid, jeer- ing mob. He looked at the crowd wonder- ingly. Only a week ago they were prais- ing him whom they now scorned the most. He looked at the young Jew and felt an intense sympathy for him. He had not deserved this. He was a beautiful young man with a splendid physique, but the scourgings had taken toll of his strength and he often stumbled. A grizzly fellow brushed passed Cornelius, and as he did so, the centurian grabbed him. “Carry that man’s cross.” The man scowled, but dared not disobey. With ease he lifted the crude cross off the back of the nearly prostrate Jew. Cornelius seemed to see the face of the grim old prophet soften and heard as an echo, “Do what thou'cans’t to ease the yoke." “Wouldst thou help nail them to the cross, captain?” “Nay, see ye to it.” The two robbers cursed ﬁercely as they were nailed, but the young Jew only gritted his teeth and stared upward. The crosses were lifted and with a jarring thud, that tore the nail holes larger, they were dropped into the ground. One of the robbers let out a diabolical curse and the other one fainted. But still the young Jew remained unmoved. “That vile, young Jew hath courage." “Aye, that he hath.” “Perhaps he speaketh with Jehovah,” jest- ingly replied another. Like a ﬂash Cornelius turned. “Jest not while ye are at such a task as this.” The men looked at one another questioningly and shrugged their shoulders. “I must get out of this district. Both Pilate and Herod shed blood for any little thing. I can stand war, but when a man sacrifices others merely for the whim of a dancing girl, or for the sake of his own popularity, then I would rather not be near them. Let someone else carry out their murders. Perhaps I can be transferred again.” The young Jew had spoken several times while the captain was thus deep in thought. His reverie ended abruptly at the sound of a reading crash. And looking up to the Jew. Cornelius saw the agony overcome by a look of majestic triumph as he cried out, “It is ﬁnished.” And immediately it became pitch dark and the earth shook as if convulsed with horror. Huge boulders cracked, hills split as if cleft by a gigantic axe. Trees were broken and torn up by their roots. Blinding ﬂashes of light showed the mob milling madly. For- gotten was the cmciﬁxion. Gone was the nor- bid curiosity. Their one thought was to get away from the hill. Cornelius stood alone. The guards had lied with the mob. In silent awe he knelt by the cross. When the quaking had ceased and the pall of the sky disappeared he arose and stood gazing at the young Jew. “Surely,” he said, “this must be the Son ed God." Then slowly he wended his way through the dusk to the city . “Aye, Julius, this is no mere mortal whose tomb we guard. And hast thou not heard how men from the dead have preached in Jerusa- lem, and that the temple veil was rent in twain?" Julius was about to reply when suddenly they were suffused in a dazzling white light and the earth trembled. They fell upon their faces and became as dead, and when they awoke the sealed stone was removed and the tomb was empty. Upon report of this Cornelius and the other guards were heavily bribed and sworn not to tell the truth. Cornelius accepted the bribe, but was deeply puzzled in his heart. “It is good," he said to Julius, “that I re- ceived my transfer. Next week I go with my wife and child to Caesarea. Maybe there I can learn more of this great prophet. Here I dare not even inquire. Then, too, I would fain be rid of these murderous tasks that Pilate and Herod bid me do.” It II ‘ And there was dwelling in Caeserea a cer- tain Centurisn—a devout man, Cornelius by name. He was of good repute among all men, both Jew and Gentile. A man who feared the Lord and daily prayed unto Him. And the Lord sent Simon Peter unto him to instruct him. Then Peter, ﬁnding that he believed in the Lord and, being led by God, baptized him. Cornelius, the ﬁrst Gentile Christian, re- mained true in the faith doing his best to ease Rome’s hard yoke, until the day when that yoke fell upon him too. And he strode out into the Arena unafraid, for he was a soldier of Christ. .. swag-smile?in
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 15
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 13 Today ELSIE M. TOLLEFSON ODAY, and today, and today; forever awaiting tomorrow, forever regretting yesterday. . . . Today was funny. You know, it was different. Arose betimes, which means about 9:30, with the customary premonitions of Friday the Thirteenth. Such unhappy thoughts...
Show moreTHE DIAL 13 Today ELSIE M. TOLLEFSON ODAY, and today, and today; forever awaiting tomorrow, forever regretting yesterday. . . . Today was funny. You know, it was different. Arose betimes, which means about 9:30, with the customary premonitions of Friday the Thirteenth. Such unhappy thoughts brought on the resolve to think more than the usual superﬁcial thoughts about ef- ﬁcient schedules: doing only the things neces- sary and in the least possible time. . . . Prob- ably it was only something I had eaten—I mean that brought on the unhappy thoughts. I think there should be a law against sending out chow mein after midnight. . . . Breakfast. Funny how girls have to eat breakfast from a sense of duty. Sometimes I think I hate men who can eat a hearty breakfast and be- gin the day feeling happy and contented with life. . . . I struggle through my grapefruit, toast, and coffee so I will not have to join the throng that fares forth for breakfast to the Riverside at 9:45. . I invariably begin the day “in a mood”, which I conceal by re- fusing to speak. The world grows brighter as the day advances and as duty after duty is over. By duties I mean classes. I suppose that by early afternoon I shall feel quite jovial. . . . School. Humdrum reality, with little seconds of ecstacy at a thought, an idea, a glimpse of something beautiful in a book or a personality. . . . It was worthwhile. Today I am a model student, eager with a burning thirst for knowledge; interested, and, per- haps even seemingly intelligent. . . . Also I learn something today. It is that instead of possessing the qualities of simplicity and wholesomeness when we grow up we become tricky sophists. I agree heartily. . But why ramble on when the sun is so warm and friendly, the skies are so unbelievably blue and I am so happy. . . . So happy, in fact, that certain solemn, suspicious individuals look at me disapprovingly, as if my happiness were wicked. . . . My girl friend and I go for a walk. A gipsy ancestor ﬁlled me with a longing to tramp over the burnt brown hills with my face turned to the sky. We decide to walk out past Mendota Bridge and have a steak fry. Isn’t it delightful to cast care to the four winds to commune with nature, to count the colors of the sunset, to observe laboring hu- manity, to lose oneself in the sordid, fascinat- ing Mississippi, to watch the scurrying musk- rats and Polacks in the riVer bottoms and ﬂats, to think about living and dying. . Living is funny . . . and strange. . . . Full of tiny moments of happiness, like today, and days of sorrow and strife. . . Nice to be home. The little hole in the hall carpet where I stand while looking for the keyhole. . . . Key- holes are hard to ﬁnd. . . . The landlady is going to put in a new hall rug next week. . . She always is. Home is something to which one may cling when life itself seems loosed from its moorings. My walk was grand, but home is very welcome. . . . My revery fades out as my eyes are closing and I am fading into Edison’s prescribed ﬁve-hour sleep. Today, Friday the Thirteenth, is ended with no castrophies or regrets. . . . Tomorrow, an- other day, is just over the horizon; yesterday, that is today, will soon be past. . . . Broken Shells Sum‘ram Drah'nreb F we cultivated the art of silence more as- siduously we should make better progress in the art of speech. * The friends of Job sat for seven days in silence when they saw his calamity. Therein they showed greater wisdom and sympathy than when they began to speak. Before they ﬁnished, they had spoiled their sick-call. . The delicate but silent beauty of the rose is a more convincing argument for the exist- ence of God than is the noisy crowing of Chanticleer. ‘
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 09
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 7 others. Then as he played an adaptation of Wagner’s immortal “Overture to ‘Tanno hauser’”, my soul throbbed to the deep, rich harmonies of the opening measures. Suddenly I was awakened to the fact that I must go home. The dark, mysterious shadows which had formerly outlined clearly the...
Show moreTHE DIAL 7 others. Then as he played an adaptation of Wagner’s immortal “Overture to ‘Tanno hauser’”, my soul throbbed to the deep, rich harmonies of the opening measures. Suddenly I was awakened to the fact that I must go home. The dark, mysterious shadows which had formerly outlined clearly the forms of the sturdy-looking pillars had now grown vague, had overstepped those lines, and had merged with one another. The great shadow above, which had formerly been con- ﬁned to the vast region upon where the arches met, had now crept down and had cast a pal] over everything. The windows, which had formerly reﬂected a mellow glow into the chamber, had since turned darker and darker as the sun drew farther and farther away, so that now they seemed transformed into a rich, somber blue. As I slipped through the massive oaken door to the accompaniment of the digniﬁed strains of a recessional march, I walked slowly down the long walk ﬂanked on either side by stately trees, thankful that I had made such a fortunate decision as to spend the Sunday afternoon with God in His own dwelling-place. ‘JE Worship in College ERNEST G. ANDERSON OME time ago, two very helpful and timely editorials appeared in our college newspaper on chapel attendance. I felt at the time, and since then, that the subject was the most vital one before the students at Augsburg. It is trite to say that the chapel exercises are an important part of the college day; what we want to realize is just why it is important, and desirable, for us to take part in the college Worship. The college student does not as a rule object to attending chapel, but on the other hand, neither does he go into superlatives in extolling its virtues. Now it should be otherwise. Granted that there are those attending a Christian college who are not even interested in religion; granted that there are those spiritual natures who are so interested that they can even contribute act- ively by their presence, interceding for the success of the occasion as they take part; nevertheless, the bulk of our student body re- mains in between these two extremes. It is to them, primarily, that college worship should make its greatest appeal. And, unfortunately, both for the school and the students, it is to them that chapel makes the least appeal. The aim of every chapel exercise is a reli- gious experience. By this I mean that my soul shall know that I have been in the pres- ence of God, that I have heard His voice speak- ing to me, and that I have answered with a cry in my own soul. This experience is vastly different from what I may have in the la- boratory, bending over a specimen of organic life in my endeavor to verify some principle of biology; it is vastly different from my varied classroom experiences as the enlarge- ment of mind takes place under the guidance of an instructor; it is the realization of my unity with my fellowmen, a sense of sin and guilt, and my realization of my unity with God, a sense of forgiveness and restoration. This is essential to my life. I must continually sense these unities; I must worship daily in order to obtain, and retain my sense of “be- longing,” both to my race and my God. Wor- ship is the free giving of my soul to God that it may receive from Him that which it needs in order to overcome the handicaps of belong- ing to my race, the handicap of evil and sin, and in order to realize in a workaday world the glorious beauty of belonging to Him. Now is such an experience possible in a college? Can we overcome the sense of belonging to a race of beings who rush about in a mad search for what they call knowledge, wealth, pleasure, and power? Can we overcome the tension long enough to say the Lord’s Prayer decently, let alone suggesting that college students should have a religious experience at every chapel exercise? And, I admit that it seems impossible and well-nigh preposter- ous even to suggest it. But I will have to justify myself at least, even though I cannot hope to Win any disciples. It is admitted that worship is not dependent
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 04
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 2 THE DIAL talityinthespirituallifeofourachooL'hue- asaathismaybeasymptomafitsdsay. ThefoesoftheChristianfaithare'ithintl: camp. Wearecalledtolovethehostilemul— titudes outside, but we are not commanded to love slovenly mental habits or indiﬂ‘erenee to the issues of life. Surveying the situation...
Show more2 THE DIAL talityinthespirituallifeofourachooL'hue- asaathismaybeasymptomafitsdsay. ThefoesoftheChristianfaithare'ithintl: camp. Wearecalledtolovethehostilemul— titudes outside, but we are not commanded to love slovenly mental habits or indiﬂ‘erenee to the issues of life. Surveying the situation in our own school we are both encouraged and disheartened. We are encouraged by the attitude of the faculty as a whole towards this problem, and one can- not but rejoice that the leaders have not lost the vision, no matter how discouraging has been the task of attempting to convey it to others. Then we are also encouraged by the few who are not averse to a little mental perspiration. There are a few whose faces shine from the vision they have had on the mountain top. Their lives are going to count for God and humanity. But the heart-break- ing phase is that the Christians too often feel that they are guilty of disloyalty to Christ if they use their intellect, and that to examine the tenets of our faith is to doubt God. It must be a rather timorous faith and a rather fragile God that is seriously disturbed by sound, healthy thinking about Him! Paul advocates thinking most vigorously and think- tanyisahsolutalyementialasapri-ryn- quisitefor adequate living. Now'hathaaallthistodo'ithlheb'm” Intheﬁntphegitiaapleaforﬂam Noliterarymagaainehasarighttoaa‘l‘tht hasasitsonlypurpoaethepuhﬂaﬂudﬁe hestresultsodsenteneemandm sayings. ltshouldaimtoatt-alatathahd thoughthyitastudentsonthevttalhmd life. Itshouldreﬂectasaeeuatelyaapadlh totheoutside'orldapictmofthtm microcomacollqeanditslﬂe. It“ givewholesomestabilitytooarfaithhm ousthinkingahoutitanditaphssinmﬂm Finally,itshouldcultlvatealovef¢th beautiful. 96 I A Lenten Hymn (Melody: My God, how wonderful Thou art) MY Savior, once Thy face was set To bear the bitter cross; Should I Thy suﬁering now forgot, Or count Thy pain a loss? Should I forget that Thou for me Once walked that bitter way, And sacriﬁced, that I might see How good that road today? My Savior, make me strong to serve And give my life to Thee, And from that pathway never swerve Which Thou hast shown to me. Thoubidctmsmtakeaptheenu. Aburdenlmtbear, Normattheaaenﬁee' ale“, Whichthuwithfhulshm.. My Savior, not a calla-ads pain, I emanate to Thee. Myh'fe,witheurylouergm’a, Thine m not alwaye be. Aadilsometﬁaathepaialallead, Whichheretomisgiul. _ medghmdomlhwthatnad Willeadm'thfhuiaﬂm P. A. 8v... ,1.’ 3 ' t v. . “rt-Jeri 'Q- 2
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 13
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 11 The heart of Lake Superior, however, is not always warm. I have seen it when it has made me wish I were a thousand miles away. I do not mean when it is stormy and angry, because that is an inspiring sight, but I do mean when the water is calm and gray, and the sky is calm and gray....
Show moreTHE DIAL 11 The heart of Lake Superior, however, is not always warm. I have seen it when it has made me wish I were a thousand miles away. I do not mean when it is stormy and angry, because that is an inspiring sight, but I do mean when the water is calm and gray, and the sky is calm and gray. The sun shines on it with a‘calm, cold light that sends shivers down one’s back and makes one think of all the dead men concealed in its depth. It is then that I feel the cruelty, the unmercifull- ness of the heart of “Gitchee Gumee.” Then there are other times when the heart of Lake Superior is as cheerful as anyone could wish. When the water is blue and the sky is blue, and white gulls wheel around in the air and a pure white fog rests as lightly as the gulls themselves on the surface of the waves,—then it is all that one could ask. It is then that I love “Gitchee Gumee.” There is one view of Lake Superior that I shall never forget, a view that an artist could paint: the Lake at sunset and in a gathering storm! Stormy black clouds piled high above the water, and in the water was reﬂected their dull, angry color. But in the midst of the sky was one mass of clouds of pure ﬁre, all gold and ﬂame, and shot through and through with duskier trailings that seemed to resemble smoke. Beneath this mass of ﬁre an ore boat was making its way into harbor, all its lights aglow. I glance again at the sunset clouds above and, as I watched them steadily, it seemed, for one instant, that this was the heart of the Lake; the heart which I could hear throbbing in the cry of the fog-horns. Only one instant the illusion remained and then slipped away as the clouds, too, lost the colors and became as the rest, only dull, toss- ing, and stormy. After the sunset comes night! The Indians’ “Big-Sea-Water" is unfathomable at night, but it is also restful. I used to love to sit at the window and watch the boats far out on the water as theyturned on their lights. It often reminded me of “The Lamplighter” by Stevenson. But the boats were not the only objects that I watched light up—for the stars also came out. Sometimes, as I looked out, out where the sky met the water, I could not tell whether the lights were stars or boats. Then the fog would come creeping in, blotting out both stars and lights, and the beating of the heart of the lake would commence again. For one instant I had seen the heart; and had heard and am still hearing the heart of “Gitchee Gumee” as she lulled me to sleep with her beating tone for—Oh-h De-ar! Oh-h dear! Oh dear! '16 Blue RiveraMist AS I stoood at dawn of a summer’s day, Between hills of dew-decked green I saw a blue mist on the river that lay Like a ﬁlmy, vapory screen. It flooded the river low-lands With the blue of a summer’s sky, .Covered was all by shadowy hands Yet distinct were the hills and I. There at dawn an enchanting tryst The great river held with me; Now I long to follow the blue of its mist To that deeper blue of the sea. JUDITH HOMME.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 03
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL VOL. IV MARCH. 1932 NO. 1 The Dial EnNssr G. ANDERSON OME ninety years ago a magazine by the name of The Dial was issued by one Eliza- beth Peabody who had started a bookshop. The editor of the new publication was Mar- garet Fuller and among its contributors ap- peared such names as...
Show moreTHE DIAL VOL. IV MARCH. 1932 NO. 1 The Dial EnNssr G. ANDERSON OME ninety years ago a magazine by the name of The Dial was issued by one Eliza- beth Peabody who had started a bookshop. The editor of the new publication was Mar- garet Fuller and among its contributors ap- peared such names as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bronson Alcott, James Russel Lowell, Henry Thoreau, and others of lesser fame. The maga- zine was to be the ofﬁcial organ of The Trans- cendental Club, a group of men and women who were interested in German speculation, Neo-Platonism, and Oriental mysticism. They met to discuss these at that time absorbingly interesting subjects and also ways in which they might present them to the world. It seems that it is the ﬁrst instinct of the human to published a new idea to the world at once. The group was composed of men and Women of more than ordinary intelligence in some re- spects, but in others they were doubtless rather helpless. Their “Brook Farm” experi- ment proved that one can qualify as expert on the theories of life and yet fail most severely in carrying them into actuality. But we are interested primarily in the Dial. The project proved a ﬁnancial failure, chieﬂy on account of a limited subscription list and the both suspicious and derisive re- ception it was granted by the public. There are, after all, very few who are capable of deriving much enjoyment and beneﬁt from an hour with German philosophy or Brahmin theology. Emerson said in a letter, “Poor Diall—it has not pleased any mortal.” He opposed timely articles or any discussions on current issues, consequently he found little support from reformers and the extremeists. Yet it did serve a great purpose in the few years of its existence. It is fair to say that it provided an outlet for the creative genius of such men as Thoreau, Emerson, and Lowell in a manner best calculated to inﬂuence the literary thought of the day. It is important and in fact, necessary, that a new enthusiasm must ﬁnd expression and that it must be in a form and manner tending to perpetuate it. It has often been intimated if not directly stated that the church schools are not friendly to freedom of thought. The charge has been that thought and faith are antagonistic and that one cannot think after one has become a Christian. The mental life of a pious be- liever, it is stated by many modern critics of religion, becomes narrow, circumscribed and hypocritical. That these charges are in the main baseless, no one with a little fairness will dispute, but we wonder if, after all, there isn’t something in the background of the church college which has given rise to this criticism. I am not thinking of any taboos on thinking in our faith, but I am wondering if the lack of thinking done by the students hasn’t given rise to the idea that the absence is caused by a prohibition on thought. What is it in the mind or the life of the average college student that causes this mental ﬂabbiness? I have had occasion to glance through a group of freshmen themes recently and the samples of collegiate thinking were discouraging. Now one of the aims of any literary magazine is most certainly stimulation of thought and thinking. No great advance will be made by our church schools until they become leaders of Christian thought as well as inspiratioml centers for the emotional phase of the religious life. No leadership will come out of the cam- pus until leadership is established on the cam- pus. . . . Too often we are satisﬁed by the mediocre minimum, and we accept a noisy emotional demonstration as evidence of vi-
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 05
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 3 A Certain Centurian THOMAS OST of them were shepherds and trades- men. But here and there stood a white- robed rabbi gazing disdainfully at the scrawny, uncouth speaker. Moving about through the motley crowd were soldiers with clanging short swords and glistening helmets. A well built...
Show moreTHE DIAL 3 A Certain Centurian THOMAS OST of them were shepherds and trades- men. But here and there stood a white- robed rabbi gazing disdainfully at the scrawny, uncouth speaker. Moving about through the motley crowd were soldiers with clanging short swords and glistening helmets. A well built youth called to one of the sol- diers, “He speaketh calmly and unafraid." “Aye, captain, that he doth.” The speaker had ceased his harsh, cutting harangue and the crowd was moving cityward. Little groups stopped to talk to him. The cap- tain, too, stopped and drawled, “What shall I do, oh prophet? Shall I lay aside my sword and take the shepherd staff or wouldst thou have me as thy disciple?” This offer seemed so preposterous that he laughed boisterously. The rugged man stood in silence for a mo- ment. Then he replied, “Nay thou canst best do thy share in the guards. My people have need of men in thy position who are just, who can ease the hard yoke of Rome.” The captain walked away thoughtfully, no more in a boisterous mood. Had the prophet spoken harshly and rebuked him, he would have enjoyed it. But the sudden change from his caustic tone to that of sadness gripped his heart. As he neared the house he grew more troubled. He could not rid his mind of that sad, meditative look, which was the more striking because it seemed so out of place in the stern face of the prophet. II! It * “Bring him here. What has he done?” “He failed to do obeisance as Pilate passed him and Pilate bade us take him and teach him better. Aye, We shall delight in the honor. We shall scourge him and bastinado his soles. Perchance the smarting of his soles will humble his soul.” And they laughed coarsely at the fun. The poor shepherd crouched in terror be- fore the captain. And in his eyes, raised in pleading, Cornelius seemed to see the same sad look as he had seen in the prophet’s eyes. “Wist thou not that Pilate is praetor and that thou must do him homage?” “Aye, captain, but my child is sick and I was so intent upon ﬁnding the new prophet that I failed to see Pilate.” For a moment he forgot his plight and with eagerness moved closer to Cornelius. “Hast thou heard of him?” He can Work miracles SPANDE such as have not been done since Elijah’s time. Perhaps he can heal my daughter. "Maybe," and his voice sank to a hushed awe, “he is our Messiah." The grim look on Cornelius' face softened, and, whipping out his sword, he cut the bonds. “Thou cans’t go, but remember next time.” The guards gazed at each other in ill con- cealed surprise and disgust. It was their pas- time to torture such prizes, and for the cap- tain to take away such a chance was unfair. As soon as the captain walked away some began to mutter. “He must have taken to heart what the old prophet said.” “If he keeps this up he had better be a nursemaid. Soldiers must be men." At this last remark one of the younger sol- diers spun around and the others quailed be- fore his fury. He snarled, “Do not think for a moment that I agree with the captain’s act. But let me hear no one say that Cornelius is not a man. Well, ye know that he is not cap- tain by inﬂuence. He has earned it by bravery and sagacity. ’Tis only cowards who say such base things behind one’s back. “And,” he chuckled, “I doubt if any of us would care to say it to his face.” The next day there came rumors of an up- rising in Arabia, and within a week Cornelius had received his marching orders. Now all petty strife was forgotten. They were all soldiers and eager for action. ’11 I'.‘ III Two years later they returned, weary and worn by the strenuous campaign. But, as al- ways, they were prepossessing and self-conﬁ- dent. Cornelius in the lead. sat grimly astride a prancing black, a spoil of war, and the others followed. The whole group was very trim and grand and radiated force and power. As they came toward Jerusalem, they beheld a great multitude pressing along the main way. As they drew nearer, they saw a comely young man clothed in a simple, ﬂowing, white gar- ment. He rode a little, white ass that walked proudly and sedately down the palm strewn path. The. contrast between the forceful and barbaric splendor of the guards and the quiet, peaceful nobility of the young Jew was strik- ing. Yet the multitude did not notice it. In- deed, there were very few who noticed the ar- rival of the guards, for they were all eager
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 01
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Published by theAngsburg Writers’ Club 1932

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 11
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 9 Poor Prometheus MAURICE Hams steady humming sound drifted out through the windows of a comfortable home on ultra-respectable Division street one hazy autumn afternoon. A poet would per- haps have imagined that some thrifty house- wife was plying the family spinning wheel somewhere in...
Show moreTHE DIAL 9 Poor Prometheus MAURICE Hams steady humming sound drifted out through the windows of a comfortable home on ultra-respectable Division street one hazy autumn afternoon. A poet would per- haps have imagined that some thrifty house- wife was plying the family spinning wheel somewhere in the cool interior, but spinning wheels are very rare in Butter City. Almost as rare, in fact, as poets, and if there are any left they must have been relegated, like the poets, to dusty atticsu The Butter City at- mosphere is not congenial to poets. In fact the only truly cultural agency in the town is the Thursday Afternoon Literary Guild which, by the way, was the cause of the strange buzzing sound on that particular afternoon. At precisely three o’clock the hum of voices ceased as the president, always punctual, called the meeting to order. “We will have the pleasure today of . . .” She glanced severely at the lady in red who was giggling for no apparent reason. “We shall discuss," she began again as the lady in red subsided into decorous silence, “the Greek . . .er . . . er . . work called Prometheus Bound. In order to put us in the proper mood Miss Allen will favor us with the solo, ‘From the Land of the Sky Blue Waters’." As the last piercing note died away the audience sighed in unison; a lady in pink sur- reptitiously wiped her eyes on a pink hanker- chief, the lady in red relaxed and closed her mouth which had unconsciously dropped open as she listened breathlessly. and the hostess retreated from her position in the kitchen doorway whither she had been drawn by the magnetism of music. Finally, when the murmur and rustle which followed the song had sufﬁciently subsided the president called on the town librarian to give an account of the plot of the drama. “What lessons may we learn from the story?” asked the president, true to her re- gular routine, after she had thanked the li- brarian for her excellent report. . “We should be thankful that we are not chained to a rock,” suggested the lady in red. “Indeed, we have much to be thankful for,” agreed the president. “We should learn to have patience, and not lose our tempers even if we are sorely tried,” said a lady in black in an even tone. “How would you like to be chained to a rock?” challenged a lady in blue. “Well, men can stand more," defended the lady in black. “My boy was tied up by some bad boys to a post in our barn once," remarked the lady in pink reminiscently. “I wonder how the story ends? I suppose he married that lady after a while and . . .” “Please do not depart from the subject, Miss Allen.” “Why should the story end in a thunder- storm like that, I’d like to know. Life isn’t like that,” said the lady in pink, not very convincingly. “Life doesn’t always end in a wedding, either,” sighed the librarian blushingly. “What else may we learn from the story?” persisted the president. “We should learn to be patient, as some- one said. In that beautiful song we heard to- day there is a line which is very appropriate, I think. ‘She is sick for the sky blue waters; the captive maid is mute." Even if she was very sad and lonely she didn’t complain like Prometheus. I think that is the right spirit.” Having completed her contribution to the dis cussion, the lady in grey replaced her notes in her purse and sat down. “That is very true . . . Mrs. Hewitt?” “Madam president, my niece from Oconomo- woc who is visiting the club with me has just ﬁnished a poem about Prometheus. She gets inspired every once in a while.” “We would be delighted to hear it; nothing could be a more ﬁtting close to our enjoyable program." The president bestowed on the young Miss Hewitt one of her rare smiles. The poetess arose bashfully (as every poet- ess, or poet for that matter, should), and be— gan in a low hurried voice to recite her im- promptu masterpiece. AN 0m: T0 Pmmarnaus There was a certain man In the ancient days Who did a great deal of good In various ways. But for some strange reason Which we cannot explain He was tied to a rock By a great iron chain.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 02
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 16
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 14 THE DIAL Csnst thou explain how the snow-the purity of the lily’s cup is born out the ugly blackness of the swamp-land? “A day in thy courts is better than a thou- sand,” says the Scripture. This would seem to indicate that whoever really desired it could live to be older than Methuselah. O...
Show more14 THE DIAL Csnst thou explain how the snow-the purity of the lily’s cup is born out the ugly blackness of the swamp-land? “A day in thy courts is better than a thou- sand,” says the Scripture. This would seem to indicate that whoever really desired it could live to be older than Methuselah. O Christ was always most interested in those who were despised and rejected of men: the harlot, the publican, the leper, the man fallen among robbers, the devil-possessed, the thief on the cross. Perhaps He found their honesty more interesting than the Pharisees’ hypocrisy. The entrance gates to their souls had not yet been bolted, even though there was a great deal of impurity within. ﬁ How strangely powerful is the symbolism of the written word! Why should this ar- rangement of black lines I HATE YOU produce so different a response from this I LOVE YOU? I O Many churches hire their “prophets” and pay them as long as they prophesy according to their taste. When this is no longer the case, like Amaziah of old, they say to their Amos, “Flee thou away into the land of Judah (or elsewhere), and there eat bread,—-and prophesy!” In the mind of all Amaziahs both ancient and modern, bread and prophesying are very closely associated. There was another who counselled One greater than the prophets to begin his preaching career by turning stones into bread. ‘ He who does not possess a deep and burning love for his own people has missed one of the richest treasures of earth. Ill Every time the telephone or doorbell rings I have another opportunity to do good. But I do not always remember this, and then, in- stead, I do myself evil by becoming impatient. II It is more important to be right than to be original. * I heard some one say, “God robbed Heaven of its chief glory when He sent Jesus to earth.” Then I thought of the words in John “— —— ~— the Son of Man who is in heaven.” Was not Heaven rejoicing in the glory of His lowliness even while He walked on earth? Is not the humility of hidden service a greater glorythantheﬂamingthroneofundisturhed power 1 . There came a brother to my door. a“ foralms. Aswespohstogether.halaldﬂt- terly, “God—i1 there be a God—has never done anything for me!” I wonder. whether. when he left and west on his way. he felt a little kindlin- toward man—and God. . More wonderful than the enduring strength of the Brooklyn Bridge or the mighty sym- metry of the Empire State Building are the changeless mathematical and physical laws that make possible these marvellous works at the hand of man. More wonderful than the gentle beauty 0! a rose or the rugged grandeur of a mountain or the noble self-sacriﬁce of a loving heart is the God of Beauty and Strength and Love-— the Inﬁnite One whose glory cannot be fully hidden beneath these ﬁnite veils. Yet even our joy in these works of His hand may be an expression of our worship 0! Kim whose name alone is truly called Wonderful. O The silvery tears of the weeping willow stir my soul more deeply than the unmeasured strength of the mighty oak. On a ﬁercely hot mid-afternoon I walked along the shady sidewalk and saw my brother, of darker skin, digging a trench in the street. I knew that he was working for me. And I felt ashamed. For what have I done to de- serve a life of comparative ease, while my brethren taste the bitterness of the ancient curse, “In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou cat thy bread?" In a sermon one morning I referred to Maxim Gorki’s bitter comment when he visited Coney‘Island. At the close of the service a gentleman asked me if I had not considered how different would be the reaction of Christ as He looked upon those restless multitudes. I was grateful for the gentle rebuke. ‘ Some people have excellent principles, but very narrow interests; others have almost boundless interests, but are utterly without principle. The truly noble and attractive soul is he who in himself combines unswerving prin- ciples with widely encompassing interests. . When my eyelids grow very tired, and the White Angel of Death presses them gently down, shall my last earth-vision be that of thy face? ‘ “I m. ‘4)? QMm-ﬁi’g 3a§‘," . a. a . we
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 20
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1938, Page 24
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 71w Rm! Selma! 7% SM Is Jt'sr a rural school teacher walking do\\n a typical coun- try road, and on one arm she is carrying the traditional lunch pail. ﬁlled with bread and cheese. On the other arm are piled books including anything from -.1 Primer to Higher Mathematics. She also has a heavy...
Show more71w Rm! Selma! 7% SM Is Jt'sr a rural school teacher walking do\\n a typical coun- try road, and on one arm she is carrying the traditional lunch pail. ﬁlled with bread and cheese. On the other arm are piled books including anything from -.1 Primer to Higher Mathematics. She also has a heavy feeling in the organ in which food is digested. It must he that fried mush that she had for breakfast—hut she thinks, “Oh, but it's good to be alive!" Everything seems So peaceful and tranquil with nothing but the ticking of the clock. but not for long. for as she opens the drawer to get a match. out jumps :1 mouse. She goes hard into action and soon ﬁnds herself on top of the desk. Soon children start coming from all sides. There are exactly twenty good mornings for the teacher. she hears exactly what twenty fathers said and what twenty mothers did. she answers one hundred and ﬁfty-two questions. rudely ignores ten at greatest moments of concentration. reminds her responsible pupils of their morning tasks, helps ﬁx the handle on the duster. helps untangle the ﬂag rope. dries the tears of the little beginner. reprimands the giggling second grade girls. offers sugges- tions for charades, with a sinking feeling reads a note from a fond mother whose only child has been mistreated by the ill- mannered children of other parents. mends the ball, sews a button on Bobby's shirt, plays “Farmer in the Dell," rings the bell. tries to make Richard follow in line. only to learn that he must wait un- til last. he being sadly in need of a needle and thread, for his trousers and the harh wire fence had become too intimate in his attempt to rescue the ‘ ball. Now it is time for class and the rural school teacher begins her work, so the public thinks. What do you think? MARGIE ENEMARK. '40. DIAL 12
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 12
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 10 THE DIAL Instead of being patient And repenting of his sin He kept ﬁdgeting about And the chain rubbed his skin. Poor old Prometheus Did not know any better, But we should pity him Exported to the weather. And if ever we want to complain, We should be thankful for our luck, Just think of poor...
Show more10 THE DIAL Instead of being patient And repenting of his sin He kept ﬁdgeting about And the chain rubbed his skin. Poor old Prometheus Did not know any better, But we should pity him Exported to the weather. And if ever we want to complain, We should be thankful for our luck, Just think of poor Prometheus Chained to a rack. A hush folloxved the recitation. No one wanted to break the awed silence. It is doubt- ful what would have happened if the hostess had not just then appeared in the doorway to announce lunch. The group that emerged from the front door some time later was still discussing Promo- theus. “Wasn't that a wonderful story?” "Yes. i'm so glad the new teacher sug- gested that we discuss it. I wouldn't have missed it for anything." “Isn’t it great the way some people can write poetry--that Hewitt girl and the man who wrote Prometheus Bound and the one that composed the song?" said the lady in blue in an awed tone. “She must inherit it," said the lady in red. “No, I think she learned it by herself," aid the lady in grey. The lady in pink broke in, “Didn't you feel sorry for poor Promethean” “Yes, it’s a sad story,” agreed the librarian. “Tragic, I call it," said Miss Allen. The voice faded away into the distance. '1 [° The Heart of Gitchee Gumee RUTH Bowna “By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomia. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the ﬁrs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.” I NE name always ﬁlled me with dreams as I used to read “Hiawatha”——“Gitchee Gumee.” I did not know, at that time, what it meant, only, that it was some vast body of water. But the name made me think of mys- terious, shivery things: of the gloomy forest of pines that grew along its shores, of Nokomis’ Wigwam and the small ﬂickering ﬁre carved against a background of those pines, and be- fore it, stretching away to the horizon, was always “Gitchee Gumee.” Later on in my grade school years, I learned that Gitchee Gumee was one and the same with Lake Superior, a lake in my own native state. After that information came to me, I pored over all the old road maps I could ﬁnd, trying to determine the best route by which this lake could be reached. When lessons were given in History and Geography with any- thing at all relating to the Great Lakes, that part I studied especially well, almost to the exclusion of everything else. The thought never entered my mind that I would ever see this wonderful lake, but still my dreams were not shattered. Fate or Luck or Chance, or whatever you may want to call it, was evidently feeling well disposed toward me, for she smiled and let me see this “Gitchee Gumee”; not only once, but many times. II My ﬁrst view of Lake Superior was from a high hill early in the morning. .Through a heavy, gray fog I could see dimly the out.- lines of the near shore. The lake was like a ﬂoating cloud beneath me, and far out on a darker patch rose a castle, a ghostly castle, faintly distinguishable through the mist. I have found since then that this castle is only a grain elevator, but I do not care to believe it. Steadily, as an undertone from the fog, I could hear the low boom-boom-boom of the fog-horns. The signals came so evenly that it made me think of the beating of a heart, and always since then, when I hear the fog- horns, I fancy that it is the beating of the heart of “Gitchee Gumee."
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Title: The Dial 1938, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: And now, e’en though our friend has parted From the work that kept him here, We all can ﬁnish what he started, In his way of faith and cheer. For God will surely give His blessing On a cause so fine and true, If, with bumble hearts, confessing, We accept our leader’s cue. To him, whose courage...
Show moreAnd now, e’en though our friend has parted From the work that kept him here, We all can ﬁnish what he started, In his way of faith and cheer. For God will surely give His blessing On a cause so fine and true, If, with bumble hearts, confessing, We accept our leader’s cue. To him, whose courage was unending, We, united voices raise, In harmony of chorus, rend’ring Forth our hymns of prayer and praise. As roof and rafter still are ringing With the echoes of our song, We pray, “Lord, help us to keep singing: Give us grace to carry on.” MILDRED OUDAL, ’40 ﬂirt} 0m ﬂea!“ He gave his time. No cause was put aside Without his thoughtful care. He was a man Whom all might well approach, and in him ﬁnd All understanding, sympathy, and love. He was a man of foresight, one who built For coming days when other feet should tread Where he had trod. He saw a light, A vision of a better world with Christ, And this became the goal toward which he strove. To this he gave his all. In every thing God’s will was all to him, and unto this He bowed himself—e’en to the end. VINCENT MOSTROM, ’39. DIAL
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Title: The Dial 1938, Page 17
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: “Grandfather! Grandfather!” he shouted excitedly. “There are three eagles soaring tonight!” The grandfather hurried to the door. What was that? An eagle—a young eagle-soaring from the osprey’s nest? He could see it!—soaring—soaring—. Dared he hope? No need to hope. He saw it now—youth soaring—the...
Show more“Grandfather! Grandfather!” he shouted excitedly. “There are three eagles soaring tonight!” The grandfather hurried to the door. What was that? An eagle—a young eagle-soaring from the osprey’s nest? He could see it!—soaring—soaring—. Dared he hope? No need to hope. He saw it now—youth soaring—the little lad—ah, the little lad— he would not be bound with the chains that he himself had had to bear—the boy would soar! MILDRED RYAN, ’40. \x. \\ x '1 )1. s. L—x ya“ 4%” :\\ Sometimes I pause, For building is strife, And catch a vision Of ﬁnished life. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ’40. 15 DIAL
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Title: The Dial 1938, Page 10
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: $44M Mwﬁth-ddrm-fvric. Fmrbeuuﬁcbb—‘gn‘isﬁg— mmanmspig kabbphmmh. Wkrebymnaﬂou, “ﬂatndﬂﬂym Fiﬁmdarcd-p'rbd. IIEfndpu-ﬂyo’a'nbd Diagrammwtkn Ofmmrbo-gbuwﬁcbm Andﬁobdheﬂioapqa— Ymmeng-dyfmﬂtt. Rabid.-lwdcaintb¢-'. Unilaoopedadfaud you that. Hidilgyawsoberu'dafau, Hazing your bed «nib dd.) grace....
Show more$44M Mwﬁth-ddrm-fvric. Fmrbeuuﬁcbb—‘gn‘isﬁg— mmanmspig kabbphmmh. Wkrebymnaﬂou, “ﬂatndﬂﬂym Fiﬁmdarcd-p'rbd. IIEfndpu-ﬂyo’a'nbd Diagrammwtkn Ofmmrbo-gbuwﬁcbm Andﬁobdheﬂioapqa— Ymmeng-dyfmﬂtt. Rabid.-lwdcaintb¢-'. Unilaoopedadfaud you that. Hidilgyawsoberu'dafau, Hazing your bed «nib dd.) grace. Abnlxdwmlkwymphct. Samciola,donlbagyawbd, Rural-fan uitbndsﬂai-nad: And when fra- tbrdli-g though: l'w Id. Yot'llbeln'leltﬁit-itou. Aldtbegwlxlmqudcam. I'llsbaenyumbcredtbtbu. JmLme‘gx ﬁ‘kﬂ hvgwx WMhungbw.toosadtoﬂo¢”-szovﬁm‘3¢ “Hchadmackqukcahmdlofhisﬁngamibbythctiuttbe interview vs over.”—Snu Drum. '39. "I hyphenatcd two yam will a yes‘—Hm Bujnux. ‘Slcrisitsloogcrintwohomsthannymchdoeshhalf a day."an Hovnsnx. ‘39.
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Title: The Dial 1938, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: DIAL It is the evening drawing nigh. The lonely night bird’s venting Cry. The sobbing of the willow row, That cause these lines my face to show. Not weariness has made it so: Has caused my voice to echo low: But memories of times gone by . . . ’Tis only this that makes me sigh. It is not...
Show moreDIAL It is the evening drawing nigh. The lonely night bird’s venting Cry. The sobbing of the willow row, That cause these lines my face to show. Not weariness has made it so: Has caused my voice to echo low: But memories of times gone by . . . ’Tis only this that makes me sigh. It is not weariness, dear guest, That makes my head lean on my breast. It’s memories that come to me Like distant winds from a distant sea, A dream that will not let me be; A memory that makes me see Across the years that lie behind . . . No longer cruel . . . yet still unkind. There was a time when I like you Was young and strong as growing yew. My hair was black . . . not white as now; No wrinkles reached across my brow; My hand was strong . . . it did not shake; No danger ever made me quake . . . Yet look at me . . . behold a man Who rode on time’s ﬂeet caravan. This memory! . . . Would I were there. A schoolhouse standing by the square. Its lofty portals, ﬁlled with pride, Have memories that have not died. A hallway dim . . . yet ﬁlled with light, For through it passed great men of might; Perhaps not all know worldly fame . . . But what of that . . . they God proclaim. I need but bend my inner ear, And thundering voices I can hear Leap the years like Gabriel’s call; l2
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