Poet? Prayer 0 God, I cannot write! There are no words that can express the soul of me. You gave me too much feeling to recite The things I’ve known of joy and tragedy. But there are depths concealed Within the quiet souls of countless wordless men. God, let my feeling rather be revealed Through... Show morePoet? Prayer 0 God, I cannot write! There are no words that can express the soul of me. You gave me too much feeling to recite The things I’ve known of joy and tragedy. But there are depths concealed Within the quiet souls of countless wordless men. God, let my feeling rather be revealed Through open eyes than gifted tongue or pen. —BORGHILD ESTNESS, ’43 Snow At Mtg/If I watch each tiny snowflake As to earth it wends its way, Each one silently falling From the distant Milky Way. Again as I look through the window At each symmetrical flake; They fill me with constant wonder, At what our God can make. —THELMA ERICKSON, ’46 29 DIAL Show less
the same resolution,—“Next year no drastic changes; only the cleaning that is absolutely necessary". Again spring comes and again my mother begins to think of and to talk about house cleaning. So, for another year, we go through the same ordeal of spring house cleaning. -— MAY KROHN, ’43 Would 7... Show morethe same resolution,—“Next year no drastic changes; only the cleaning that is absolutely necessary". Again spring comes and again my mother begins to think of and to talk about house cleaning. So, for another year, we go through the same ordeal of spring house cleaning. -— MAY KROHN, ’43 Would 7/14! I Were The Carefree, boisterous little lad, Undaunted by the frets and cares Of a tumultuous world; Would that I were thee. Faithful, trusting little lad, Unspotted by the temptations Of a frivolous world; Would that I were thee. Laughing, joyous little lad, Unafl’ected by the sadness Of a cruel, hateful world; Would that I were thee. —GERALD THORSON, ’43 DIAL 24 Show less
Your Roommate and You YOUR ROOMMATE gets a cold and goes to bed. She walked in the spring slush without overshoes. You watch with envy as she gurgles down delicious grapefruit juice which you brought from the corner grocery. That afternoon you walk in the spring slush without overshoes. But you... Show moreYour Roommate and You YOUR ROOMMATE gets a cold and goes to bed. She walked in the spring slush without overshoes. You watch with envy as she gurgles down delicious grapefruit juice which you brought from the corner grocery. That afternoon you walk in the spring slush without overshoes. But you don’t get a cold. You just ruin a pair of stockings and get your shoes soggy wet. When they have dried, you discover they have curled up at the toes and give you a sort of elfin look. This is perfectly ridiculous because you are anything but elfinlike. You are long and skinny and wear spec— tacles. After dinner you have to bring your roommate some lunch. This is carried in an embarrassing little market basket just small enough not to get the dessert in. You wait as long as you can and then walk furtively through the dining hall. Of course, someone notices the basket and makes an appropriately witty remark. Feeling anything but witty yourself, you make a feeble attempt at humor and stride past magnificently. Suddenly you realize that the milk is spilling. There is a little wavery path of white splotches on the floor. You hesitate a moment, then pride wins out and you sweep thankfully through the door into the cool evening. You walk nonchalantly, as though you always carried a mar- ket basket on your arm. You try to look delightfully mysterious when you pass the house where lives the little boy who likes to throw limp snowballs at you. A group of college students ap— proaches and you hastily cross the street and become instantly and completely absorbed in watching the rather inane process of the garageman sweeping the driveway. It is not a very fascinating sight, but you hope that the students have not noticed you. You reach the dorm without further encounters and proceed upstairs. You look to see how many milk spots there are on your skirt. There are four. Your roommate lies placidly in bed. You learn, after careful and cautious questioning, that she also went between the school buildings without a coat. Next day you go between the buildings without a coat. All you catch is a scolding from the nurse. But you are not daunted. You shall get a cold and go to bed. Your roommate slips on the ice and sprains her ankle. You help her up, envisioning for her a few more lovely, quiet days at DIAL 4 Show less
Campus Ec/Ioes I AM THINKING TONIGHT of you who have seen spring come to the Augsburg campus; you who have seen the bits of grass on the green, and the black spots worn by the tread of hurried feet. You who have heard the first robin, and have seen buds on the trees that have been dreaming of them... Show moreCampus Ec/Ioes I AM THINKING TONIGHT of you who have seen spring come to the Augsburg campus; you who have seen the bits of grass on the green, and the black spots worn by the tread of hurried feet. You who have heard the first robin, and have seen buds on the trees that have been dreaming of them for so long; you who have heard the echo of laughter of youthful voices. Above all, I am thinking to- Ifight of you VVhO have seen and heard these dungg and yen within your heart have felt a tinge of sadness as I do now. For I shall not see spring come to the Augsburg campus next year. I am going to say goodbye to four years of my life that have brought realities that neither life nor death can ever take away. You, who have thought as I do now, do not wonder that I see again the familiar buildings with a new vision—a forward look and a backward look. There’s Old Main, for instance. By no flight of imagination can Old Main appear beautiful to me. Yet I cannot forget that the steps, unsteady as they are, bear the marks of the tread of loyal Augsburg men. Old Main does not have to be a beautiful build- ing. Ever since someone told me about the lonely immigrant boy who sat in his room in Old Main keeping Christmas Eve so far from home with a bit of candy, a candle burning, and a Book be- fore him, Old Main has been more than beautiful. It has been sacred. That boy was my father. To me, Memorial Hall is a symbol of faith and life. It is a sym— bol of the faith of those who gave so freely in order that Augs— burg might live and grow. And the laughter that echoes in Alpha and Beta and Gamma and Delta Houses is a symbol of the lives of you who are under the colors fighting for what we treasure atlkugsburg. I’m leaving Augsburg. Yet I know within myself that I am not really leaving. Part of me shall remain. Augsburg is a campus of echoes. And just as the echoes of fifty years have remained, so shall my echoes and yours remain. If you have ever sung “My God How Wonderful Thou Art”, if you have ever bowed your head and your heart in the most triumphant prayer in all Christen— dom — “For Thine is the Kingdom, and the power, and the glory 31 DIAL Show less
hum on past you, while others of the little savages sing their way up to you, then begin the attack. After slapping uselessly at a few of the myriad throng, you decide that you are outnumbered, and so, with a sigh, you turn your back on the little lake, and regretfully plod back from its shores. ... Show morehum on past you, while others of the little savages sing their way up to you, then begin the attack. After slapping uselessly at a few of the myriad throng, you decide that you are outnumbered, and so, with a sigh, you turn your back on the little lake, and regretfully plod back from its shores. —JACK HALEY, ’45 Nq'g/If Patrol Good night, my Love, My Dearest, sleep. Far off, beyond the farthest star, you lie. But I am here, suspended — Above the darkling sea’s moon-silvered waves. A part of infinite eternity. The velvet sky droops low caressingly, Scintillating, clear, the myriad stars gleam overhead; The moon hangs low, A narrow golden crescent fading into nothingness, A cradle for my love. Sleep sweetly now, my Own, And dream of me. My drowsy plane croons you a lullaby. Sleep — Sleep — The pale light glimmering in the East, Each dawn’s promise of the day, Is my token, Dear, That this night, too, shall end, That peace, and light, and love, shall have their day, And I, again, have you. —-CLODAUGH NEIDERHEISER, ’44 Show less
jingling of the harness, that we forgot all about how horribly inconvenient it was. Ah . . . the wrist watch is convenient like everything else that is modern and up to date. Even the pastor is beginning to dis- cover how simple life is when one wears a wrist watch —all the fumbling under the... Show morejingling of the harness, that we forgot all about how horribly inconvenient it was. Ah . . . the wrist watch is convenient like everything else that is modern and up to date. Even the pastor is beginning to dis- cover how simple life is when one wears a wrist watch —all the fumbling under the robe to bring out the pocket watch when he steps into the pulpit is eliminated now. We catch a gleam of the shiny elastic band (not even a strap buckle to fasten) as he em- phasizes a statement in his sermon. I am glad my own pastor still places his watch on the pulpit ledge; maybe I still am a little fascinated, as I used to be, by wondering what his reaction would be should his gesturing arm sweep it to the floor. And even the college professors, who are supposed tradition- ally to be uninfluenced by the unscholarly pursuit of recognizing that the world is in a hurry, are bowing to the wrist watch. In the old days there was a pleasure for the student in watch- ing his professor carefully place his watch on the table. It was significant to him that his professor realized that a lecture also was governed by the eternal laws of time, which being true, the rofessor was not ashamed to glance occasionally during the hour at his watch gleaming among his books on the table. And who could say that the professor’s placing the watch on the table was not also a symbol of security to the student, because, while the student naturally wanted to garner much of the wis— dom of the ages, it would have been a fearful thing to think that the professor, steeped in the lore and the love of wisdom, might forget himself some day and go steadily on imparting knowledge. Certainly the watch right before the professor’s eyes was a sym- bol of security to the student. Not that the student has to worry much about that phase of it any longer; because, except in two or three classrooms where the professors (and these few still wear the dignified badge of the pocket watch) are masters of the old school and still reverently impart knowledge for the love of knowledge, the professor, who like the student, has for an hour been giving surreptitious glances at a mechanical gadget strapped on his left wrist, at the first ring- ing of the bell, gathers together his books and joyfully departs. —EVA NELSON, ’43 II DIAL Show less
had this unique experience do without us? How sickly and death- like life would become if composed only of white, chalky figures. And so my fellow blushers, worry not. The great day is at hand. “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.” Be not ashamed, but “blush and beautify thy cheek again”,... Show morehad this unique experience do without us? How sickly and death- like life would become if composed only of white, chalky figures. And so my fellow blushers, worry not. The great day is at hand. “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.” Be not ashamed, but “blush and beautify thy cheek again”, after all, what else can I say? — GERALD THORSON, ’43 five Year 0/4 Capra/h Dearest of all little lads, Yes—dearest—at least to us, We were as proud as you Dressed in navy blue, A five-year-old captain. That night we hung it away, How little the jacket was, Gold braid on navy blue. And we stopped once, too, By the side of your crib. Thinking of twenty years hence, Of khaki and navy blue, Moving your teddy bear, Smoothing your tousled hair, Thinking- and praying, too. —-EVA NELSON, ’43 Show less
Dedication In the midst of the confusion and uncertainty of a nation at war, we pause to pay tribute to those men and women who have gone out from Augs- burg to defend the ideals of liberty and demo- cracy. The blue stars and the gold upon our serv- ice flag bear silent testimony to the noble... Show moreDedication In the midst of the confusion and uncertainty of a nation at war, we pause to pay tribute to those men and women who have gone out from Augs- burg to defend the ideals of liberty and demo- cracy. The blue stars and the gold upon our serv- ice flag bear silent testimony to the noble spirit of loyalty and conviction which they have shown. It is to these patriotic and loyal Auggies that we dedicate the 1943 DIAL. Show less
low Augsburg students. Lend me your ears. The hour is ten. Please turn in your reserve books.” There is no response, because of course I do not say it audibly. I wait. And then they come — all at once. The books pile high upon the desk, until all else is lost to view. I check in the eleven books... Show morelow Augsburg students. Lend me your ears. The hour is ten. Please turn in your reserve books.” There is no response, because of course I do not say it audibly. I wait. And then they come — all at once. The books pile high upon the desk, until all else is lost to view. I check in the eleven books and check out seventeen others for overnight charges. In a trice the Ambitious Ones have dispersed and are hurrying home to the luxury and comfort of their respective dormitories. I shove a few more chairs under the tables, turn off a few more lights, snap the top button of my overshoe, and look dis— mayedly at the clock. It is sixteen minutes after ten. —CLARA GUDIM, ’45 Some! The snow has fallen. Deeply now it lies Upon the dark pine branches, flake on flake Piled gently there, and heavily, to make The trees distorted seem as now they rise, Dejected, solemn, sad, against gray skies. The sun breaks through; its rays the trees awake. The struggling bough begins its bonds to break. Each branch, now free of snow, bondage denies. We mortals, too, weighed down with sin appear Like burdened trees, till Christ, the Sun of Life, Shines on our care and banishes all woe. His loving light melts all our petty fear; His perfect peace dispels our thought of strife; His mercy grants us freedom here below. — DOROTHY LOVAAS, ’45 27 DIAL Show less
spring House Cleaning EVERY YEAR as soon as the snow begins to melt and the spring gives a hint of her coming, my mother gets bitten by the house cleaning “bug”. Just as I begin to perk up after the long winter and plan to spend my leisure time enjoying nature, my mother de- cides that the... Show morespring House Cleaning EVERY YEAR as soon as the snow begins to melt and the spring gives a hint of her coming, my mother gets bitten by the house cleaning “bug”. Just as I begin to perk up after the long winter and plan to spend my leisure time enjoying nature, my mother de- cides that the curtains need washing, the walls need painting, the pantry needs cleaning, and the windows need polishing. She thinks of a dozen other unpleasant jobs far from the realm of na— ture study. If winter comes can spring house cleaning be far be- hind? As far back as I can remember, every spring our house has been in an uproar. Oh, what fun it is to come home from school every afternoon, change into old clothes, and get busy with some disagreeable task, when the sun is shining brightly, urging me to come out and enjoy her warmth! Instead I must stay in our paint— smelling house and do what my mother orders. During spring house cleaning, home is just no longer home. How can I relax when there is wet paint everywhere, and I am constantly told, “Don’t touch the table, and don’t go near that door, and for goodness sake, don’t sit on that chair”? All the chairs that are not wet with paint are piled high with every object imaginable. The bed is the only place where I can be without get— ting into harm’s way; and it is no pleasure to be there either, for the paint smell is so strong that I cannot sleep in comfort anyway. Every spring my mother plans just how everything is going to be remodeled. She has glowing visions of a house made mi— raculously beautiful by a can of paint, a brush, and as she says, “good hard work”. But it seems that something always goes wrong. The paint that was bought for the woodwork in the kit— chen just does not match the paint on the walls. Or else the wall paper that seemed so appropriate when it was in the sample book does not suit now that it is on the walls. My mother looks dole— fully about her unharmonious house, and her glowing visions of the “house beaudful” go topphng nno the dust She nghs and asks herself why she did not leave it as she said she was going to do after the same sad experience the spring before. She then makes 23 DIAL Show less
“Not to be on time is the sign of very bad education. Remem- ber that! I’ll mark you late. Don’t let it happen again in any of my classes. You may sit down now." Katja sat down quickly, but with a loud bump she landed on the floor. A girl had quickly pulled her chair away. A little trick they... Show more“Not to be on time is the sign of very bad education. Remem- ber that! I’ll mark you late. Don’t let it happen again in any of my classes. You may sit down now." Katja sat down quickly, but with a loud bump she landed on the floor. A girl had quickly pulled her chair away. A little trick they often played against one another. The girls giggled. Katja got up, fished for her chair and sat down. “Last time,” Miss Petrovna began, “I told you about the life of our great Tsar Peter 1, today I will discuss —” It was the word Tsar which finally upset Katja completely. Again the girl was reminded of her father. Suddenly she started crying and sobbed passionately. Her head dropped on her arms. The class giggled. “Crybaby,” one of the girls whispered loudly enough for Katja to hear. Miss Petrovna became nervous. There was too much commo- tion in her class today. Apparently she would have to be more strict. Therefore she said sharply, “Girls, quiet now immediately or you will have to stay overtime. And Katja, if you are unable to control your emotions, you better leave class till you have re- gained your self-control.” Katja felt relieved to get out of the room, terrified to walk through the sneering glances. She was utterly ashamed. For a while she sat in the hall not dating to go back to class. She did not cry any more, she just felt dejected. She wouldn’t return to class, she decided; she would go home. She could not stand those laugh- ing faces any longer. No sense of going to school, after what happened to Father. But no, she couldn’t go home yet. Mother would ask why she was so early. She would have to wait until school was over. For- lornly she walked around. Time crept slowly that morning. Finally, the first chattering group left the school. Katja hid in a hallway; she did not want anybody to see her. Finally, when the last girl was out of sight, she ran home. At home Mother’s thoughts were far away in Siberia. “Katja,” she said wearily, “I had your dinner on the table half an hour ago. At least you could be considerate enough not to cause me any more work.” Katja said nothing. — HENRY STAUB, ’43 Show less
PERSPECTIVE Here, sitting so close to this wall, I see only a stretch of blank plaster. If I could move back I might see the window And the dooro uéFlorence Eblland
ESCAPIST'S PRAYER NUW I lay me down to sleep; Within Conventicn*s shell I creep; A search for trafin I will not make For sleep is kiwi ~ 9 I dare not wake; I pray thee, Lora, my soul to take. -Beryl.Johnson ~44v
STRONG YOUNG LOVE Strong young love With strong brown arms Hold me Touch my body Make it softly gold. Touch my hair Make it blazingusun. Strong young love With strong brown arms Love me! And let the rains fall. ~~Jean Harrison .9-
STARS (No. 2) Stars are nearer than men, For stars understand. Timeless confidants, They have heard the recurring 'questions And suggested answers. Far enough to see with undimmed eyes, They are near. --Maxine Berntsen I .20...
SPRING RETURN Ybu forget so much when you go away. You forget how wide main street looks com- pared to its length and how the false- front buildings crouch low leaving plenty of room for the sky. The town stretches itself along the ground trying to fill up as much of the prairie as it can. Only... Show moreSPRING RETURN Ybu forget so much when you go away. You forget how wide main street looks com- pared to its length and how the false- front buildings crouch low leaving plenty of room for the sky. The town stretches itself along the ground trying to fill up as much of the prairie as it can. Only the grain elevators by the depot stand high and mold the wheat from the flat spreads of fields into unique skyscrapers, How they stand empty waiting for the sum- mer sun to form and ripen the small gold— en wheat kernels which will fill them in the fall. The town is bounded by the highway on one end and the railroad on the other with main street connecting the two. The grain fields push themselves up to these limits and resent the hard paVeo ment, packed earth, buildings, cement sidewalks, and steel rails which build an infertile gap between the strips of land. The sun is just coming up by the time you've driven the thirty miles home from the train. When you get outvofl the can and smell the air it's the kind of smell captured in sheets. when they've. been washed and hung outside on a sunny day. Then the rest of the fanily wakes up and everyone has coffee and talks. Pretty €1.5- Show less
WE WANDER AS IN A DUST STORM We wander, as in a dust storm; The images before us are dim and unreal. We grope towards them, Hoping to find support, Only to find them lost in a cloud of obscurity. We have lost the rock, We flounder about Trying to hide our fright by walking Faster And faster.... Show moreWE WANDER AS IN A DUST STORM We wander, as in a dust storm; The images before us are dim and unreal. We grope towards them, Hoping to find support, Only to find them lost in a cloud of obscurity. We have lost the rock, We flounder about Trying to hide our fright by walking Faster And faster. Christ, where is Thy mercy that shows us Thy salvation? Thy grace that gives us wiéaom? Thy love that teaches us love? Come to us that we may stand straight, That we may walk steadily with confidence, That the dim forms may be clear And that we may see the black and the white, That the gray may disappear, The winds cease, u ‘And the sun shine. --Florence Helland .10 o Show less
