24 W King’s ’I‘was dawning and the morning star Did softly fade away, As o’er the sleeping world arose The sun, announcing day! I lingered not in peaceful dreams But straightway I arose, For I must travel many miles Before the day should close. The road was smooth and wide and straight And as I... Show more24 W King’s ’I‘was dawning and the morning star Did softly fade away, As o’er the sleeping world arose The sun, announcing day! I lingered not in peaceful dreams But straightway I arose, For I must travel many miles Before the day should close. The road was smooth and wide and straight And as I sped along My joyous heart did overflow With many a happy song. Ah, it was great to be alive On such a glorious morn, When rising sun the waking world With beauty did adorn. The gentle breeze caressed my brow And rustled in the grass, The flow’rs and trees did quietly nod As by them I did pass. The sunlight’s rays grew more direct The day, more warm and bright, With quickened pace I hurried on With heart so gay and light. When noon had come with its great heat The broad road did divide, One path went o’er the rolling plain, The other, the mountain side. At last I came to the crossroad; No guidepost did disclose The way that I should journey, so The rugged path I chose. THE DIAL Show less
Up, up I climbed—the burning sun. Upon my back did beat, And gnarled roots and jagged rocks Did bruise my tired feet. The road more narrow then did grow And seemed so very steep That it was all that I could do Within the path to keep. All day I journeyed thus and as The shades of night drew nigh,... Show moreUp, up I climbed—the burning sun. Upon my back did beat, And gnarled roots and jagged rocks Did bruise my tired feet. The road more narrow then did grow And seemed so very steep That it was all that I could do Within the path to keep. All day I journeyed thus and as The shades of night drew nigh, I lifted up my tired eyes And heaved a weary sigh. Ah, all this way and all in vain The mountain path I trod, Where was the path that led me to The Holy Living God? My soul in agony did cry And on my face I fell; And loudly cried in weary fear, “:Who could the secret tell?” Then faintly through the dead of night A voice so still and small With silent peace and calmness great Upon my soul did fall. “Ah, weary one! Look up and live!" It quietly said to me. “Behold the cross! Behold the grave! I did it all for thee. Thou needs no longer strive to reach The haven of the blest, Just yield thy heart, my tired child! Come unto me and rest!” My journey now is at its end, And oh, the sweet release 0f yielding to my blessed Lord Who speaks to me in peace. I could not by my striving seek To cover all my sin; But I had found a victory By letting Jesus in. MILDRED RYAN, ’41. Show less
The Escapade of 6 Cup Yesterday I was just a poor neglected cup watching the world from the kitchen shelf; this morning I occupy a place of importance on a sturdy table. You think this is a strange place for a cup to be, you say? Well, maybe so; but I over- heard the girls remark last night that... Show moreThe Escapade of 6 Cup Yesterday I was just a poor neglected cup watching the world from the kitchen shelf; this morning I occupy a place of importance on a sturdy table. You think this is a strange place for a cup to be, you say? Well, maybe so; but I over- heard the girls remark last night that they were going on a hike at six this morning, and naturally they need a cup. Hmm! it’s five—thirty now, and neither of the two have made a stir in their beds. I bet they’ll sleep right through. Whoops! What was that? It sounded like thunder. Might have known, though, that it was the alarm clock . . . and look at those girls dress. Hmm . . . guess my hunch was wrong that time. Ouch! These girls are without mercy. The idea! Stuf- fing me in a bag with a lot of other dishes! Hey! Who punctured me? Oh! it’s that fresh fork; he certainly looks malicious enough. Here we go. I’m being shifted from hand to hand, and I hope they don’t get too careless. Hope I haven’t put on weight of late. They have no reason to complain though. If they were in a bag the way I am, then I’d feel sorry for them . . . but as long as they have fresh air to breathe . . . never! “Riverside” did they say? I’ve been there before. Ah! we’re here already. But I do wish they’d be a little more careful in setting me down. I bruise easily. There’s that fresh fork glaring at me. Guess he’s never been with re- spectable people before! As if I could help that he was al- ways getting tangled up in my handle. Maybe the old flirt has forgotten his company manners. If I couldn’t remem- ber better than that I’d go stick myself into a pickle. Well, perhaps I’d forget my handle if it wasn’t fastened on me. Ah, out of the bag at last. Guess I’ll take a deep breath. Ouch! My throat! What got into it? 000, that smoke! 26 _THE DIAL Show less
You’d think they were wig-wagging Mars, or trying to smoke out all the bugs in Minnesota. Um-m . . . those eggs smell good though, and the coffee. Ah-h-h-h . . . here it comes. Now for a drink of coffee. Say, do they call this coffee? It tastes as if it were scorched . . . how it’s possible, I... Show moreYou’d think they were wig-wagging Mars, or trying to smoke out all the bugs in Minnesota. Um-m . . . those eggs smell good though, and the coffee. Ah-h-h-h . . . here it comes. Now for a drink of coffee. Say, do they call this coffee? It tastes as if it were scorched . . . how it’s possible, I don’t know? I’ve heard that college girls scorch water every time they boil it, but I’d never believe it if it weren’t for this coffee. It’s definitely no good. What? Are they through with their hike so soon? Oh, well, here I go . . . back into the bag. Back on the shelf, and I can still smell smoke. HAZEL WILLARD, ’41. Tm, My Wu When on earth I struggle far Striving for some far-off star, Hopelessly I try in vain Seeking goals I can’t attain; When I am at utter loss, Jesus, then I see the Cross, See Thy blood stains on the tree And Thee suffering there for me. May I always see Thee there, Lest I fall in more despair, May these earthly crowns just be Stepping stones, 0 Lord, to Thee. FERN O. HANSON, ’41. THE DIAL___.___ 27 Show less
Just \X/e Two It was at sunset. We walked alone, together, just God and I. I had asked Him to go with me. We had no de- finite destination . . . we wandered on. We held hands. He looked down at me and smiled. Nothing was said—there was no need to say anything. We chose a river path. It was not... Show moreJust \X/e Two It was at sunset. We walked alone, together, just God and I. I had asked Him to go with me. We had no de- finite destination . . . we wandered on. We held hands. He looked down at me and smiled. Nothing was said—there was no need to say anything. We chose a river path. It was not wide enough for two -—He bade me walk ahead. Listen! It was His feathery flock. “My God, how wonderful Thou art.” He placed His hand upon my shoulder as we listened—I had no strength to walk on, it was too delicately sacred. The new born blades of grass bending—brushing, against one an- other lulled forth in nocturnal tenderness a hymn of hushed, whispering hope. The hallowed air was pregnant with that Inner Presence. We moved . . . closer. The birds were en- circled in the branches of a little pine tree. The setting western sun had cast an auburn halo around the choir, for it was such as they continued to sing, the heavens wept, gently. The rain was falling reverently, in tenderest sobs. The breeze moved with caressive compassion to wipe the tears away. After the concert was over, they asked Him to lead in Scripture reading and prayer. He chose my favorite pas- sage, Psalm 46:10, for He knew it was such. “Be still and know that I am God.” And we were still before Him. Utter silence . . . deeply Reconsecration. Our helpless- ness . . O, Lord, have mercy. For I knew that He was God. There was a silent benediction. And we walked on . . . together, just God and I. * Times flies, but why should I? RUTH ERICKSON, '41. 28 —THE DIAL Show less
A Hat From his youth a golden haired girl of rosy fair com- plexion had ruled his dreams till she became his ideal of womanhood. First he had seen her in the setting of eter- nal hills, bathing their blue and lavender peaks in the sun- lit skies. She had played upon his heart in the quiet and... Show moreA Hat From his youth a golden haired girl of rosy fair com- plexion had ruled his dreams till she became his ideal of womanhood. First he had seen her in the setting of eter- nal hills, bathing their blue and lavender peaks in the sun- lit skies. She had played upon his heart in the quiet and peace of the Sunday’s Chapel service . . . and had unknow- ingly made herself a part of him. She was a child and he was a child . . . but before they knew one another well she was removed from the hills by her parents. Years passed, and Jimmy gained manhood, yet lingering in his dreams was a golden haired child. Student days were busy days, but one day the dream was revived to the strength of a vision. During an intercollegiate school meet- ing his heart again became a drum at beholding the vision of his youth before him. There she stood. She, too, had gro , and was a young woman . . . but . . . Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat. There on her beautiful hair of gold was perched in an extremely audacious man- ner the most atrocious hat Jimmy had ever seen. Its color was just between a green and a blue though it might have been intended for a blue. In shape it resembled the wreck of a schooner lying upturned with its keel exposed on a sand-bar. A gaudy orange feather ran along the keel and extended out into space for a tremendous distance of seven or eight inches . . . not at all unlike a distress signal waving in the breeze. The hat came down low over her eyes like the comb of a Wyandotte hen. 0n the right side a loose veil-like affair hung like a family wash in the wind. A disillusioned man, Jimmy stared, and slowly the dream of childhood vanished. The bubble of idealism had broken. A hat had been the betrayer of all . . . or, what was it? JOEL LUNDEEN, ’40. THE DIAL_______ 29 Show less
24 We Bay’s PM I know that I’ve been bad today, I feel it way down deep. So I just thought I’d tell you this Before I went to sleep. I jerked the kitty’s tail, I did it twice today! I tied it in a knot And then I ran away. She didn’t seem to care so much, So maybe it’s all right. Don’t think I... Show more24 We Bay’s PM I know that I’ve been bad today, I feel it way down deep. So I just thought I’d tell you this Before I went to sleep. I jerked the kitty’s tail, I did it twice today! I tied it in a knot And then I ran away. She didn’t seem to care so much, So maybe it’s all right. Don’t think I really hurt her, ’Twouldn’t tie so very tight. I pinched my sister while she slept, Hardly a pinch at all, But how was I supposed to know That she’d wake up and bawl?! And then I had to play with her. I always get the blame! Things looks as though it’s mutiny, I think it’s all a shame! But since I'm awful sleepy, Guess I’d better say ‘goodnite’. God, bless my Mom and Daddy, . . . . . . Sister too, cause . . ., she’s all right. RUTH ERICKSON, ’41. iii“? What a pity we spend our lives trying to convince our- selves we are doing good. MARION LUND, ’39. 30 __T H E D I A L Show less
v11 ‘ ’- L‘s—1L. Hasty Running Says a snag to himself, says he; “Ho, ho, do I feel gid— dish today. This lovely spring weather certainly does something to a person. It just seems to add that certain something,—you know how it is. “It ought to be a great day for running, but maybe I ought to wait... Show morev11 ‘ ’- L‘s—1L. Hasty Running Says a snag to himself, says he; “Ho, ho, do I feel gid— dish today. This lovely spring weather certainly does something to a person. It just seems to add that certain something,—you know how it is. “It ought to be a great day for running, but maybe I ought to wait for a while yet . . . at least until she gets out of history class. No, I’ll wait until—well, anyway, I’ll wait until later. “Here, here, asleep in history class. I’d hate to accuse a professor of singing a lullaby, or was it because he lectured on the Industrial Revolution that she fell asleep? Wish her foot would go to sleep so I could catch a few winks my— self. There goes the bell—whoops, did she jump. Well, here we go, Religion class next, so that means my forty winks come still later. “Say, where is she going? I’ve gone to Religion class long enough to know that it isn’t held on the landing be- tween floors. Sure enough, there he is. I might have known it. Now what shall I think about while they’re talking. Hm, should I or shouldn’t I, or was I thinking of ‘to be or not to be’? Well, should I? Yes, I believe I should. “This seems to be quite the logical place to begin—whee. All the way down the front—there you are, a masterpiece! Almost thought it was an obstacle race at first, the way I had to jump over those goose-pimples. “What did he say—a party tomorrow night! Why didn’t he talk faster so I could have heard it before this happened? Serves me right, I guess; anyway, always think before you run.” RUTH ERICKSON, ’41. as “It is hard to be humble without being proud of it.” MARGIE ENEMARK, ’39. THE DIAL______ 31 Show less
Back Home An old man shuffled slowly down the narrow country road in the baking mid-morning sun. The dust rose in small clouds around his feet. Leaning heavily on an old crooked cane, he paused in the shade of some overhanging branches of an oak tree, removed his battered hat, wiped beads of... Show moreBack Home An old man shuffled slowly down the narrow country road in the baking mid-morning sun. The dust rose in small clouds around his feet. Leaning heavily on an old crooked cane, he paused in the shade of some overhanging branches of an oak tree, removed his battered hat, wiped beads of perspiration from his deeply wrinkled brow, and peered intently down the road to the main highway. He started slowly down the dusty road again. A new light seemed to brighten those feeble eyes as a car drew up and stopped at the mailbox by the highway. The mailman placed something in the box, waved a greeting, and drove on. “News from the young ones!” the old man said to him- self as he hurried on as fast as his shuffling feet could carry him. His hand shook as he eagerly opened the box and with- drew a letter. A look of disappointment spread over his face. His eagerness disappeared. The faded blue eyes seemed to grow more dim as he read on the envelope, “Re- turn in five days to Sears Roebuck and Co.” OLAF G. JOHNSON, ’39. ‘k 5:? Resignation Our faith must have a wisdom That will know God’s love though it may come Through grief and pain; He speaketh deepest when My head is low And I must listen to The silent rain. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ’40. 32 __THE DIAL Show less
THE DIAL VOL. III DECEMBER, 1930 N0. 1 Soil ERNEST G. ANDERSON, ’34 S the fast transcontinental train swept westward into the prairie lands, and nearer home, I lost interest in my book and feasted my eyes upon the welcome and fa- miliar landscape, now fast graying under the approaching twilight.... Show moreTHE DIAL VOL. III DECEMBER, 1930 N0. 1 Soil ERNEST G. ANDERSON, ’34 S the fast transcontinental train swept westward into the prairie lands, and nearer home, I lost interest in my book and feasted my eyes upon the welcome and fa- miliar landscape, now fast graying under the approaching twilight. Two passengers in the seat ahead also glanced once or twice at this, to them, apparently new country; then pulling down the window shade with a shiver, one of them, a young lady, picked up a deck of cards and invited her companion to take part in our national indoor sport. I sank into a reverie. Was it all so fearful, this country of prairies, of rolling sun-kissed hills, of plains bursting with rich soils? I knew it did not matter what these strangers thought of my country, but why was it con- sidered so fearful that our lives should have the tang of the soil? The Soil! I was fas- cinated by a thought that our lives are moulded and affected by the influence of the soil. * a: a: a: I was conscious of it very early. It en- tered my life first as a playmate, later as a taskmaster, and finally as a well-loved friend. There was nothing quite so satis- fying as soil when we sought our games. It served admirably as a medium of expression for our life in miniature, an imitation of all that we observed. In it caves were dug, dams were built, harbors deepened for our Armadas; and when Romulus and Remus altercated, it served as a weapon of offense and defense. During this time it was all rather impersonal; except for the discom- fort which accompanied periodic removal of particles which persisted in clinging to us. The soil had not as yet awakened any defi- nite reaction within me. I remember, though, how pleasant the wagon tires sounded on the gritty road, and the thick, puffy clouds of dust which sprang up around the horses’ hoofs as they stepped along the loose track. * * * * Our stay in the make-believe world is short, and soon I had to take my part in reality’s sterner games, and my old play— mate left me. When we next met, it was as opponents in an ancient combat, man’s struggle with the soil—for his bread. It became my taskmaster, and how I chafed under the new-found yoke! How my body ached after a long day’s work in the dusty fields! The soil became insolent in its tyran- ny, placing stumbling-blocks to my weary feet in the form of large, hard lumps of clay. When evening came, I walked home with an air of defeat, depressed at the thought of a life-long struggle with the soil, of stumbling over chunks of earth. * It * * As I grew physically better fitted to per- form the heavy farm work, almost unawares to me, a change took place in my attitude to- ward the soil. I learned to love it, and be- gan to perceive in a dim way that it re- sponded to love. It was anxious, I felt, to return our labor, our care, and our seed with an abundant harvest, if we would but be loving and honest in all our work. Not all the fields were equally valuable. The most Show less
2 THE DIAL easily subdued were the most uncertain in the matter of a yield. I came to love certain portions for their faithfulness in respond- ing to our care, but for others I had a dis- trust: they accepted every care and atten- tion, but deceived us at harvest time. it t t # With this new... Show more2 THE DIAL easily subdued were the most uncertain in the matter of a yield. I came to love certain portions for their faithfulness in respond- ing to our care, but for others I had a dis- trust: they accepted every care and atten- tion, but deceived us at harvest time. it t t # With this new contact and affection for the soil came strange thoughts and fancies, dim gropings after wispy solutions to the mysteries of life, which somehow seem united with the soil and our relations to it. What was this mighty indwelling force that could transform a black field into a carpet of green almost over-night? What reposed un- derfoot, unfelt and unseen, yet able to send a frail crocus through the hard surface of the prairie? I began to sense something of the reality of God, not in definable terms or clear—cut experiences, but as the answer, someday to be vouchsafed, to all the per- plexing and mysterious questions of life. * * * O I noticed that the soil was also the cause of tremendous changes in human lives. It would arouse ambitions in men’s breasts un- til they seemed almost possessed in their urgency to become rich through the soil. It gave freely but exacted a tribute from these pitiful creatures that included every- thing from the loss of friendship with their own kind, to the loss of mental powers and life itself. I heard the story of Olle Skulstad. He lived alone on his big farm, except for an extra man at the busy seasons of the year. He would not spare his body or even stop to give it the food it needed. They told of the moldy bread dipped in black coffee, the hurried gulping of some cold, canned vege- table, and then his rush to be out in the field again. He died alone from a blow given by his horses. 1! SI I! t The soil was often a handmaid of romance. Hopes, fond expectations, and plans were nourished upon its promise. Vows were made that could be kept only on condition of its fruitfulness. Men were eager to show the starry-eyed, yet clear-minded, woman of their choice what two strong arms and the soil could bring forth. The eternal round of replenishing the earth was kept going be- cause one hundred and sixty acres of rich soil held forth the key to the house of hap- piness for two trusting human beings. # i i t She was a woman who had sinned griev- ously, but she had also paid for her moment of pleasure with her life. Tongues wagged, heads nodded knowingly over gossipy cups, while whole boneyards of skeletons were locked up by these self-complacent souls as they hurled their cries of “Unclean! Un- clean!” at the lonely woman on her death- bed. But a kindlier friend awaited her when they cast her out, for the sheltering arms of mother earth accepted the poor, withered body without a murmur or re- proach. The words, “Dust thou art; to dust shalt thou return” fell upon our hearts like the shovels of earth upon the coffin; we had proved ourselves less than dust in sympathy, in forgiveness. * *‘ * II The young lady in the seat ahead tired of the card game. She raised the shade and looked out upon the prairie, now gray and mysterious under the evening shadows. “What a terrible place to live in!” she ex- claimed, “nothing but endless acres of bar- ren prairie. I pity the person that has to live here all his life.” “And yet there are men who make this desert bloom,” returned her partner. “What you think is dreadful is to them a paradise of wheat, cattle, and broad pastures.” “Yes, that may be all true, but no doubt these same farmers are just as stupid as the cows they milk, and as blind to the finer things of life and culture as the dirt out Show less
THE DIAL 3 there.” With this dictum she picked up a gaudily-covered magazine with its special number of “The Unfaithful Wife, or Love in Gangland”, and was soon absorbing Amer- ica’s culture, oblivious to the rest of the world. A huge moon arose, showering a cascade of silvery light upon the... Show moreTHE DIAL 3 there.” With this dictum she picked up a gaudily-covered magazine with its special number of “The Unfaithful Wife, or Love in Gangland”, and was soon absorbing Amer- ica’s culture, oblivious to the rest of the world. A huge moon arose, showering a cascade of silvery light upon the plains. The wheels clicked a hurrying, eager tattoo to the roar of the speeding train. And outside, under the moonlight, was the soil, locked in the icy arms of winter. gas»;— Sonnets EINAR R. RYDEN, ’29 IV CZQHAT pain! Excruciating, endless pain! I have forgotten all, all, all but self; I have all virtue in my being slain; I strive but for the power of gold and pelf. How could I through my years of life be blind To usefulness, to fellowship, and love? I’ve been a parasite on humankind, Forgetting fellowman, and God above. And yet I live. Perhaps I can atone To some degree my selfish, mad desire— I turn to Thee upon the heavenly throne And Thou in me a new life will inspire. My sins are great. Thy love is greater still, And I submit myself unto Thy will. V (Zé)HEN I my thoughts review in serious mind And think upon the days that used to be— Then, I was guided by a heart so kind That not the slightest harm could come to me. How often I did grieve that gentle heart And cause deep sorrow where but joy should reign. Yet in my childish cares she took my part, I would repent and be forgiven again. A mother’s level—fresh as each new-born day, Pure as the moonbeams in the darkest night— I would, in all I do, somewhat repay That love which serves in sadness and delight. So now I shall, that I might happy be, Return that love so freely given for me. VI HE constant progress of the modern mind Continues with its search to learn the laws Of all material things, to know the cause Through scientific skill, and thus to find Life’s final purpose; then, with life defined In all its aspects, there need be no pause To contemplate—for, knowing, nothing awes. But can the facts be seen with soul stone-blind? We love and hate; we live and die; the chain Of sin still holds us fast as in the day When Faith’s own children tempted were to drain The cup of Love and thus, for self, betray Man unto Death. But Faith will yet sustain The one who can both Faith and Love obey. Show less
How a Freshman Keeps Humble RUTH Osmrws, ’34 NTERING college in the ranks of the freshman class, may have its compensa- tions, but it also has its drawbacks. I came to Augsburg with a desire to learn something, and a few things are now locked in the archives of my mind. There they shall remain... Show moreHow a Freshman Keeps Humble RUTH Osmrws, ’34 NTERING college in the ranks of the freshman class, may have its compensa- tions, but it also has its drawbacks. I came to Augsburg with a desire to learn something, and a few things are now locked in the archives of my mind. There they shall remain till its walls crumble and de- cay. Freshman are poverbially supposed to make mistakes, but it is not necessary to make as many as I did. My brother and I were registering, when a gentleman walked up and cordially greeted us and inquired our names. My brother responded by asking him if he were one of the instructors. An interested listener hastened to tell us that we were addressing the president of the college. An introduction to him was not a bad way to start one’s educational career. Soon after this, I went to an English class, where the instructor informed us that we were to read some essays. He assigned for study, Montaigne’s “Of Friendship” and also mentioned some essays by Grace Jen- sen and Iver Olson, who, I imagined, must be some modern essay writers, of whom I had never heard. I had often been told that the best way to start out a new term was to study your lessons, at least, the first few assignments. I was open to advice, so I pro- ceeded to the library, and asked for some essays by Grace Jensen, Montaigne, or Iver Olson; it did not make any difference to me. The assistant librarian seemed puzzled for a moment; then he laughed, and brought me the “Dial”. I still did not understand his unseemly mirth and hoped I would not have that effect on everyone. As I began to read, I discovered the “Dial” to be a college publication, and in it, I saw the names, Grace Jensen and Iver Olson, with “ ’33” inscribed beneath them. As comprehension broke through the cloud, I began to notice the tem- perature in the library. It seemed very warm and uncomfortable. I read the essays in suffocated silence, trying to concentrate on the subject matter in them, rather than to think of myself. Did all seniors have an ignominous past like mine would be? I pursued among other studies, Norwe- gian, and it was a breath-taking pursuit as far as I was concerned. Every time I at- tempted to answer a question or interpret a sentence, I could be depended upon to get the wrong meaning or roll the wrong let- ters around my tongue. Norse was the me- dium of my forefathers, but how they ever understood one another, baffled me. My in- structor was very patient and did not seem half as discouraged as I felt about my ever learning the language. Every day I became deeper and deeper en- tangled in an amazing amount of words which I neither understood nor could prd nounce correctly. The thought of an impend- ing mid-quarter examination filled me with dread. I studied the vocabulary, but the words just would not stick in my American mind. Then, those little articles before the words annoyed me. What difierence did it make, anyway, whether one said “en” or “et”? Much against my earnest hopes and wishes, the mid-quarter examination arrived. I took a look at the questions and groaned inwardly, for I did not know the answers to any of them. Nevertheless, I answered every question, as I had heard that instruc- Show less
“ 4 "' “"“¢~A-—-'W “.me «a. .«~\».. ~_......... v THE DIAL 5 tors appreciated effort, even if intelligence were lacking. “Ingen kan tjene to herrer” was one of the sentences which I was re- quested to translate. This would be simple for those who understood Norwegian, but to someone who did not,... Show more“ 4 "' “"“¢~A-—-'W “.me «a. .«~\».. ~_......... v THE DIAL 5 tors appreciated effort, even if intelligence were lacking. “Ingen kan tjene to herrer” was one of the sentences which I was re- quested to translate. This would be simple for those who understood Norwegian, but to someone who did not, it looked complicated. I had often heard my father speak of her- ring, and I knew that it was some kind of fish. So, even though I was not certain, I thought that perhaps the sentence meant, “N 0 one can catch two herring.” I hesitated to write this down, as it sounded rather strange, for surely, one can catch two fish. When I came home that evening, I asked my father if this were what it meant. He looked at me rather surprised for a second, and then he became very serious. Trans- lated, that line means, “No one can serve two masters.” Now, he is giving me special les- sons in Norse, whenever he can spare the time, and maybe, in the future, “J eg taler og forstaar norsk.” Meanwhile, I travel the pathway of the humble, for I have not yet qualified for the higher ways. __._¢<$¢>,.__._ An Episode from Life LUTHARD GJERDE, ’33 AWN had been glorious. Its soft mel- low glow had turned the stretching unevenness of snow drifts into an ocean of rose-tinted waves. Now the sky above was unusually clear and of such a deep blue as is rarely seen. It seemed that a perfect day was in the making. A young woman was gazing from the small, square window of a modest but neat- ly-kept farm house. She was strangely hap- py on this morning. She hummed to her— self as she picked the dry leaves from a tall rose plant that was her pride. Two deep red rose blossoms had been the reward for the pains she had taken in caring for it. With her husband, she had spent the past eight years on the farm on the rich prairies of mid-western Montana. Life had been quiet, but she had been happy in her own way. Her two children were the joy of her life. She was sending them off to school. The children, Betty and George, were radiant as their winter shoes crunched over the snow on the path toward the schoolhouse, just a mile distant and plainly visible. She smiled then, as they waved their mittened hands. Her eyes fell to the roses in the windows, and she thought how beautiful they were. The day had begun perfectly. But during the forenoon there came to be a tense feel- ing in the air; not an evil foreboding, but a feeling of the presence of something more than man. A dark wall of cloud had come up in the northwest. When she first saw it, she called to her husband. His experience with the prairie told him to prepare for a lasting and powerful storm. His first thought was of his children, and immediately he set off toward the schoolhouse. He was aware of a rolling ominousness in the lowering clouds as he hastened along. With the fright- ened children beside him, he turned his face toward the little habitation that meant so much to him. When he had gone about half the distance, a hush came over the earth. Not a breeze—not a snowflake in the still air. He knew What it meant—and it put panic into his brave heart. The loosened fury of winter was upon them in all its mysterious power and hope- lessness. The force of it came as a stagger- ing blow to the father who had taken his two children in his arms, and was defying the Show less
6 THE DIAL storm to harm them. He had difficulty in getting his breath because of the force of the wind. But he kept doggedly on and made progress in spite of the storm, which enveloped and tore at him. He was still on the path and wondered why the narrow gate by the house never came. Suddenly,... Show more6 THE DIAL storm to harm them. He had difficulty in getting his breath because of the force of the wind. But he kept doggedly on and made progress in spite of the storm, which enveloped and tore at him. He was still on the path and wondered why the narrow gate by the house never came. Suddenly, the realization of it all came to him. He was walking in a circle and following his own tracks. Stunned by the discovery he tried to break into a run. He wanted to run—- but the storm would not let him. He fought on and on, putting every ounce of his strength to work against the cruel storm. Another shock came when he spoke to his Betty and his George—there was no an- swer. It must be too cold for them. He tried to think; but that wind, and biting cold, and the driving snow that stung and blinded him was too strong. Hours of this seemed to pass, and he had come to the rea- lization that his Betty and his George were no longer suffering. He thought of his wife -—but he was doing his best. He broke into a sob and with a superhuman burst of strength he quickened his pace into a broken run. There was something beside him in the snow —the little gate which Betty and George had passed through on their way to school in the morning. His wife would be waiting ,—but what had he to bring to her? She was standing by the storm-shattered window. Her tear-streamed face showed that she had been more than anxious. As he sank into unconsciousness the last thing before his eyes was the rose plant—and its two deep red blossoms had wilted and were bowing their heads. . . . ‘ *v—hr 12%— Prayer ANNA PEDERSON, ’33 HOULD I be tempted to complain, If Thou in wisdom send as rain When sunshine was my heart’s desire; My weakness lead me, Lord, to see, And help me rise above it. Should I be tempted to perform An unkind deed, some night or morn, That worldly treasure I might gain; My folly lead me, Lord, to see, And help me rise above it. Should I be tempted to reveal In anger, envy, or revenge, An unkind tale about a friend; My selfishness lead me to see, And help me rise above it. Should I be tempted to refrain To seek Thee, God, and praise Thy name, Because I feared (mother’s scorn; My sin, Oh Lord, lead me to see, And help me rise above it. i .j gunman LR“! . Show less
Scenes from Cathay GRACE JENSEN, ’33 HE dusty road winds onward toward the city, the walls of which rise dimly in the distance. On either side, the fields of poppy and of wheat stretch away toward the hills. A man with sandals, a plain two- pieced suit of cotton indigo, and a broad— brimmed straw... Show moreScenes from Cathay GRACE JENSEN, ’33 HE dusty road winds onward toward the city, the walls of which rise dimly in the distance. On either side, the fields of poppy and of wheat stretch away toward the hills. A man with sandals, a plain two- pieced suit of cotton indigo, and a broad— brimmed straw hat pushes a barrow loaded with coal before him. Always luring him on is the protesting falsetto squeak of the large wheel, a wheel which has travelled noisily over many miles. If the wind were favor- able, a sail would be hoisted to aid him on his journey, but today he must stop occa- sionally to wipe the perspiratlon from his brow. The outline of the city wall has faded in the sudden darkness. There is no twilight to foreshadow the coming of the night. Crows which have been thieving in the fields all day, fly over the city wall just before the gates are to be closed, as though afraid that they might be shut out. They gather in dark companies among the trees to caw the gossip of the day, or to fight for a favorable position upon a favorite branch. When their quarrelling has ceased and the rustle of their wings proclaims repose, night has come down upon the city. ‘ In the yard our friend of the road is squatting with other travellers. A circle of them has gathered about the flickering light of a vegetable oil lamp and are enjoying a meal together. A bowl of noodles, with some garlic and redpepper, enjoyed in good com- pany is the right of the wanderer. Lulled to rest by the munching of the mules, twenty or more of them may sleep together on a little straw upon the ground or in the stable. If there are no bandits in the district, they will be up at dawn to travel on upon the winding road, lured ever forward by the plaintive melody of the wheel—barrow. It is three o’clock in the morning. Already figures have begun to move in the half light. Two tired missionaries’ children who, it seems to them, have just fallen asleep, are urged to get up, for it is better to travel in the cool morning than during the heated noonday. Miraculously, mother has boiled and cooled the water for the day’s supply. Father has tied a large lunch basket to its position on the rear of a cart. The drivers have, with encouraging curses, backed the mules into their places. A crack of the whip over their ears and they are off. As always the road twists and turns be- tween the fields or leads into some village. Curious children gaze at the white strangers, laugh gleefully, and call after them, “Foreig- ners! Foreigners! Foreign devils!” The winding road was intended to cause the evil spirits to lose their way. * * * In the shade of a group of trees an awn- ing has been raised and benches arranged about a table. Here an old couple sells tea and soup to thirsty wayfarers. What is your honorable name? How old are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going? How many sons have you? Are your parents living? These questions are to be answered in the same courteous way in which they are asked. For a moment the j ingling of a bell attracts our attention to the road. Two mules approach, bearing between them a rough coffin. Almost losing his balance as he sways with the motion of the beasts, an hypnotic-looking rooster is perch- ed sleepily upon this box. Within him the spirit of the departed is being carried to its resting place. The owner of the mules walks unconcernedly by their side, singing an ancient tune about his grandmother. Show less
