Marit clasped her hands firme together. She raised her eyes suddenly to the lighted cross, and above it to the stained glass window. For the first time she saw the words, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." They were strange words. Saved! It was a comforting word. There... Show moreMarit clasped her hands firme together. She raised her eyes suddenly to the lighted cross, and above it to the stained glass window. For the first time she saw the words, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." They were strange words. Saved! It was a comforting word. There were so many things she wanted to be saved from. Most of all there was death. Marit wondered if believing meant that one was saved from death. But there was no use praying if one did not know. She rose slowly from her feet and walked the length of the long aisle out into the cold morning air. II The cross was not glowing this morning. It looked more for- bidding, somehow, in the daylight, and Marit thought it looked as if it might be made out of unhewn wood. She was frightened, too, and she wanted to turn back, but the man had seen her and was coming down the long aisle. When he smiled at her, Marit was not afraid any more. That strange night when she had crept into the church unseen, her father's death while she had been gone from the house, strug- gling with those fearful doubts in that long, long vigil beside his body from whence life had fled, had forced her to come here this morning. She told him about it all, and he listened quietly. Then he took her hand and led her to the place where she had knelt that night. Simply, earnestly, he explained the story of the Cross, of the Christ who had knelt in the garden in agony. Marit folded her hands firmly as did the Christ in the picture. She raised her eyes as she had done before. “My God, I believe—” The sunlight filtered into the windows of the beautiful church. Marit looked about her, lips trembling, eyes aglow. She had no desire to flee toward the sunrise, toward the light. The light was within. It was in her soul. -—IRENE HUGLEN, ’43. To a Three—year Old ‘ You live your life carefully, heedlessly living it, —filling each moment so full by not filling it, —owning rich pleasure by ceaselessly giving it, —keeping joy brimming by constantly spilling it. —BETI'Y BRUDE, ’44. ll DIAL Show less
Spring I WOULD NEVER have thought it possible, but this year I don't like the spring. I suspect some other people feel the same way, even if they don't admit it. I'm sure the American Indians hated it. For a few months of the year they marveled at the stars, gazed at that distant range of hills,... Show moreSpring I WOULD NEVER have thought it possible, but this year I don't like the spring. I suspect some other people feel the same way, even if they don't admit it. I'm sure the American Indians hated it. For a few months of the year they marveled at the stars, gazed at that distant range of hills, and felt their souls expand and grow in the brightness of the sunlight. Then came the spring, and with it a canopy of leaves which stretched for mile after unbroken mile across the continent, blotting out the stars, cutting off the sunshine, and burying the Indian’s world in a gloom of green shadows and half-lights. I too mourn the passing of those bound- less vistas of the winter-time which lift the mind, undistracted by the lesser beauties of a leaf, or primrose petal, straight up u)God Then, too, I have realized that the spring is drab and niggard— 1y. Perhaps these are the faults of all young things. Their life is so new that every drop is selfishly hoarded. But I, for one, prefer sacrificial maturity—the autumn, for instance, which cuts its veins and floods the world with the crimson of its own life blood. Flamboyant, perhaps, but more exciting than a gentle blush of green. Of course, there is a certain charm about the spring. It’s .young. It lives. Above all, it holds the promise of a warmer, full- er, richer life to come. But no. . . Perhaps that’s just my reason for disliking spring. This year there is no hope, no promise of a richer life to come. Spring flaunts in our faces the irony of birth. Birth in the midst of blighting steel is irony, cruel irony. Our world is no place for infant lives. Just the other day, not so many blocks from Augs- burg, I saw a child. She was just about as far along as those first blades of grass pushing through the sod, with clothes in tatters, unspeakably dirty, playing unwatched in the gutter. She was scarcely out of bottle age, and she had a seraphic halo of golden, curly hair. No, this year is not the time for spring. GEORGE LINDBECK, ’44. 21 DIAL Show less
. ._D—-~—.n vAv-nysy AUGSBURG COLLEGE Homecominq prOQrdm GLORY flout I HAVE SEEN HIS GLORYI GOD'S KINGDOM COMING NIGH: THE WONDER OF ITS BEAUTY, 1 NO PEN CAN E’ER DESCRIBE. ourg ‘ I KNOW NOT WHEN THE FULLNESS Day- DOTH DAWN FOR THEE AND ME: / BUT I HAVE SEEN HIS GLORY, " AND SPEAK THE WORDS... Show more. ._D—-~—.n vAv-nysy AUGSBURG COLLEGE Homecominq prOQrdm GLORY flout I HAVE SEEN HIS GLORYI GOD'S KINGDOM COMING NIGH: THE WONDER OF ITS BEAUTY, 1 NO PEN CAN E’ER DESCRIBE. ourg ‘ I KNOW NOT WHEN THE FULLNESS Day- DOTH DAWN FOR THEE AND ME: / BUT I HAVE SEEN HIS GLORY, " AND SPEAK THE WORDS RECEIVED, all 3 :30 Ref’ormation Festival, Minngapolis Auditorium Show less
Illanksgiwbg Not only for the sunny carefree days, Nor for the joy of each fulfilled desire,— But for the grey, heart-breaking things, We thank Thee, God. For things that make our tear-dimmed eyes see Thee, That make our hearts look up, To see, beyond this vale The Christ, whose Life has touched... Show moreIllanksgiwbg Not only for the sunny carefree days, Nor for the joy of each fulfilled desire,— But for the grey, heart-breaking things, We thank Thee, God. For things that make our tear-dimmed eyes see Thee, That make our hearts look up, To see, beyond this vale The Christ, whose Life has touched our own—- For this we thank Thee, God. For though our sight is dim, We know that Thou dost guide, And through the dark and dreary days Of shattered hopes and broken plans, Will bring us life, Far richer in its wealth of love and light Than we could know before. — CLARA GUDIM Fleeting Youth is like unto a burning candle. . . . How steadily it burns, and how brilliant the warm radiance of its light! It will not last forever. Shall I clutch it closely, grasping for myself? But no, I’ll melt it down. Shall I conceal its brilliance and use it only for my own pleasure? Or shall I fling it carelessly about, for all to see and no one to enjoy? I cannot hold it steadfastly. I’ll place it in God’s candlestick to burn for Him! Youth is like unto a burning candle. . . . — MARY LOU MORTENSEN DIAL 30 Show less
AUGSBURG COLLEGE Homecoming Program 1938 THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27 6:45 P. M. Freshman-Sophomore Field Meet 8:30 Bonfire and Pep Fest, Riverside Park Open House in All Dormitories throughout Homecoming FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28 10:30 A. M. Inauguration Services, Trinity Lutheran Church 2:00 P. M. Football... Show moreAUGSBURG COLLEGE Homecoming Program 1938 THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27 6:45 P. M. Freshman-Sophomore Field Meet 8:30 Bonfire and Pep Fest, Riverside Park Open House in All Dormitories throughout Homecoming FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28 10:30 A. M. Inauguration Services, Trinity Lutheran Church 2:00 P. M. Football Game, Riverside Park (Augsburg Intramurals vs. Macalester “Ineligibles”) 6 :30 Inauguration and Homecoming Banquet, Day- ton’s Tea Rooms SATURDAY, OCTOBER 29 zlnspection of New Dormitory 6:30 “A” Club Banquet, Augsburg Dining Hall 6:30 Writers’ Club Banquet, Normandy Hotel SUNDAY, OCTOBER 30 10:45 A. M. Homecoming Services, Trinity Lutheran Church 3 :30 Reformation Festival, Minneapolis Auditorium Show less
Reflection Subdued sunrays, passing through multi-colored Windows, fall softly on the jade carpets and heavy oak pews of the old cathe- dral. From far away in one of the dark recesses of the building come the ethereal tones of the organ. A low voice breaks the silence with a rhythmic chant— “The... Show moreReflection Subdued sunrays, passing through multi-colored Windows, fall softly on the jade carpets and heavy oak pews of the old cathe- dral. From far away in one of the dark recesses of the building come the ethereal tones of the organ. A low voice breaks the silence with a rhythmic chant— “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. . . . He leadeth me beside the still waters . . . restoreth my soul. . . .” As the music becomes softer and fades slowly into the dis- tance from which it came, the psalm leads my thought away from the grandeur of huge cathedrals—away from the beauty of sub- dued sunlight and soft music—back to that summer day, not so many Junes ago, when I stood at the front of a little schoolroom, attempting to teach eighteen children the beautiful words of this psalm. I knew by their enthusiasm and by their expressive faces that they understood this message from God. And somehow, they taught me to see more clearly the truths that I was trying to teach them. . . . The psalm is finished, and as the heaven-bom music comes again out of the distance, I kneel to thank my Creator “For the beauty of the earth, For the glory of the skies —-” and for those eighteen eager, trusting children who had brought to me a deeper understanding of that vision of green pastures, of the still waters, of the paths of righteousness, and the valley of the shadow. . ——RUTH WELTZIN 5 DIAL Show less
humility which becomes, always (F), the priceless possession of small people. We look up to everyone. (No matter that it is a humility born of necessity and not of choice.) Oh yes, I like being mall—really. With the passing of the years I have become resigned to and even pleased with the inevita-... Show morehumility which becomes, always (F), the priceless possession of small people. We look up to everyone. (No matter that it is a humility born of necessity and not of choice.) Oh yes, I like being mall—really. With the passing of the years I have become resigned to and even pleased with the inevita- ble. DIAL —ARABELLA DIMINUTIVESON War/“fade Where’er we look upon this earth, We see the work of God, Who in the likeness of a man Upon this earth once trod. We see the tiny blades of grass, That perfect seem to be, And smell the sweet and fragrant rose, God’s gift for us to see. The sun and moon, the rain and stars, Their duty gladly fill. The robin sings a heavenly song From yonder window sill. Each voice in nature joins the song, And this is What they say, “ ’Tis God who giveth life to us, And Him we praise today.” And we who love him should unite In praise to God in Heaven, For all that He, in His great love To us on earth hath given. — PHYLLIS ENGLUND I6 Show less
My Cousin Bill I didn’t know what I had let myself in for when I picked out the little town of Oula, Minnesota, as my vacation headquarters. A good friend of mine had heard that a friend had told his best friend, who had a cousin named Bill, who lived near Oula, that in and around Oula I could... Show moreMy Cousin Bill I didn’t know what I had let myself in for when I picked out the little town of Oula, Minnesota, as my vacation headquarters. A good friend of mine had heard that a friend had told his best friend, who had a cousin named Bill, who lived near Oula, that in and around Oula I could find the best fishing in Minnesota. Well, I got a week OH from work, and all my fishing tackle was ready. I looked up Oula on the map. Sure enough, I found it, a tiny spot on the map, way up north near the Canadian boundary line. Everything went fine until I got within five miles of Oula. I ran out of gas. Heavy brush rubde on both sides of the car. I could hardly open the door. I finally made it and started walking up the road. Soon I came to a clearing and saw a decrepit looking cabin. “Looks deserted,” I told myself, but I decided to investi- gate. I walked up to the door and tapped. A great big fellow with a red shirt came out and asked what I wanted. I told him I had run out of gas about a mile down the road and needed some. He told me the nearest gas was at Oula. I asked him if he knew Bill Slocum. “Oh, you mean my cousin Bill?” He smiled, went into the cabin, and came out with a gallon of gasoline. Good thing for me I had mentioned Bill. Soon I was on my way again. I came to Oula. One old barn, one gasoline pump, a general store, and four old sheds—that’s all there was to Oula, “The great vacation center.” I drove up to the pump and blew my horn. A fellow limped out of one of the sheds, and asked what I wanted. “Fill her up with gas,” I said. “Give me the ration book,” he said. “Don’t tell me you need that here too,” I said. “Why Bill Slocum —” The cover came off the gas tank. The tank was full before I knew it. “The O.P.A. must be a friend of Bill’s.” I said it too loud. “The O.P.A.? What’s that? A new kind of tax?” I didn’t answer. I was too much in a hurry. I ran over to the general store to get a plug of chewing tobacco. I always had to have chewing tobacco when I went out fishing. I used it for mos- DIA'L IO Show less
Perspective Today I watched the busy world— Their pleasures, cares, and strife. I saw their fury, rage, and grief O’er all vain things of life. I heard a cabby swear and fume I saw his hardened eye. With head bowed down to sordid earth, He missed the azure sky. And lonely children living life As... Show morePerspective Today I watched the busy world— Their pleasures, cares, and strife. I saw their fury, rage, and grief O’er all vain things of life. I heard a cabby swear and fume I saw his hardened eye. With head bowed down to sordid earth, He missed the azure sky. And lonely children living life As if a vale of tears. Living held no zest for them But sorrow, filth, and fears. The clerks maintained their pretty masks Until their day was done. Six o’clock showed Cinderellas, Vainly seeking fun. What is this mad and turbulent rush? We choose to call it living. And yet it seems to me they’ve missed The germ of life— glad giving. —— MARY Lou MORTENSEN DIAL r4 Show less
Sundry Memoirs After scrutinizing the fruit bowl, I picked the largest, reddest, shiniest, apple, and with book in hand, curled myself up like a pretzel in the big chair. But apples remind me of childhood, child- hood reminds me of Northern Minnesota summers, and they in turn remind me of... Show moreSundry Memoirs After scrutinizing the fruit bowl, I picked the largest, reddest, shiniest, apple, and with book in hand, curled myself up like a pretzel in the big chair. But apples remind me of childhood, child- hood reminds me of Northern Minnesota summers, and they in turn remind me of Grandfather. Glamor boys come and go, but Gramps is the longest lasting in my life. I think he’s tops. A well rounded personality makes him all he is. I can visualize the young boy of nineteen leaving his Norwegian home, admiring brothers and sisters, and his anxious Mother to find his way in the land of the future —America. His is no story of game and fortune, big business, or gold rush. No, Augsburg was his destination, and a happy one it was. Student days were exciting. Oh, of course it was icy in the poorly built dorm in the mornings, but after the fire was built and breakfast made, on a cooperative basis, the day’s work began, and he was happy to be training for his life long ambition——the ministry. Who knows? There might even be a few minutes to run over to Cedar Avenue, across the creek and over the hill to the confectioner’s for a bull session and a cup of coffee. Then I imagine the young minister just married (and she’s such an efficient housekeeper) out in Washington, administering to the pioneers in the growing city of Aberdeen. Days fly by. He delights in his children and cozy home. Fun loving and sociable, but so busy is he! A yearly canvassing for Augsburg is made. When every house has been called upon, Rev. Jacob Mortensen turns in funds to support his Alma Mater which has given him so rnuch. But “all work and no play make Jacob a dull boy.” True enoughll Relaxation is found in the kitchen practising the culinary art of his Mother’s familiar cooking. Egg pancakes delight the chil- dren, and he fairly eflewesces from their praises. With Grandma’s assistance, he makes golden brown doughnuts, and “little holes” for the youngest child. DIAL 6 Show less
DIAL Snowflake Snowflake, you are so white and small. Upon my window sill I saw you fall. You’re like a precious grain of truth that came To us below who knowledge seek to gain. Snowflake, you are a lovely thing! How wonderful that you were sent to bring In such a quiet, gentle, graceful way A... Show moreDIAL Snowflake Snowflake, you are so white and small. Upon my window sill I saw you fall. You’re like a precious grain of truth that came To us below who knowledge seek to gain. Snowflake, you are a lovely thing! How wonderful that you were sent to bring In such a quiet, gentle, graceful way A speck of beauty to us on this day. Snowflake, you are so clean and pure. You came to this dark world of sin and care. You strive in your small way to tell us how Our lives may be as clean and pure as thou. —-ARLENE OLSON In our Woods Lofty logan bushes, Berry patches too, Hickory nuts and maple trees, And birds with brilliant hue. The green velvet moss, Clover so sweet, And pink-tinted mushrooms, Gathered ’round our feet. Over ’neath the willow tree, Hear the rippling brook, Where polly-wogs and snails and fish Are swimming as we look, In our woods. —OTHELIA CARLSEN 22 Show less
My Will . . . Nor Mine . . . I cried in deep distress unto the Lord, ——Teach me the secret of a life in Thee. He heard my voice And, in His love, With brand of white—hot steel He seared upon my heart His prayer From the Gethsemane of long ago — “Thy will . . . not mine . . .” And now, each dawn,... Show moreMy Will . . . Nor Mine . . . I cried in deep distress unto the Lord, ——Teach me the secret of a life in Thee. He heard my voice And, in His love, With brand of white—hot steel He seared upon my heart His prayer From the Gethsemane of long ago — “Thy will . . . not mine . . .” And now, each dawn, He traces with His gentle touch The prayer that means to me hope, joy, and life— “Thy will . . . not mine . . .” —RUTH WELTZIN My Wis/I I wish for you Peace as the Christ Child can give; I wish for you Health and due graces to live. I wish for you Hope for a happy tomorrow; I wish for you Joy to drown every sorrow. I wish for you Blessings in all that you do. This is my Christmas Wish for you. —MARIE G JENVICK DIAL 28 Show less
Pet/flan O God, let me again see Thee! My eyes are dimmed by mortal strife, My heart is shaded o’er with sin, My soul is dark, so dark within. Let me see Thee. O God, let me again see Thee! Let me behold Thee dying on the Cross, Atoning there for sins of mine, Giving for me Thy life Divine. Let me... Show morePet/flan O God, let me again see Thee! My eyes are dimmed by mortal strife, My heart is shaded o’er with sin, My soul is dark, so dark within. Let me see Thee. O God, let me again see Thee! Let me behold Thee dying on the Cross, Atoning there for sins of mine, Giving for me Thy life Divine. Let me see Thee. This I pray, God, That I may know again the strength and grace Which comes from long beholding Thy dear face. -—-CLARA GUDIM Contrast Dull-glowing, misted radiance Above yon city Declares with ominous hush That ’neath its gaze, Wild crowds dash madly to and fro—- Seeking only pleasure, Finding only nothingness. But here, in quiet countryside, With only stars to light our way, With solitude unbroken by the roar and din of mobs, Here is fulness of joy, here—pure peace with God. —RUTH WELTZIN DIAL 24 Show less
Jimmy He’s a freshman in college, but he’s always been just “Jimmy.” If you called him “Jim,” you’d be talking about the man he will be ten years from now. He’s everybody's friend, so—by common consent—he’s “Jimmy.” Appearances are not deceiving in Jimmy’s case. It’s his smile that betrays his... Show moreJimmy He’s a freshman in college, but he’s always been just “Jimmy.” If you called him “Jim,” you’d be talking about the man he will be ten years from now. He’s everybody's friend, so—by common consent—he’s “Jimmy.” Appearances are not deceiving in Jimmy’s case. It’s his smile that betrays his whole personality. To accompany the smile, Jimmy has a typical Auggie heinie, a generous sprinkling of freckles, and an athletic sweater. No one knows much about Jimmy’s past, except that he came from a small Minnesota town, and that he loves trout-fishing, and that he’s a real American boy. He doesn’t talk about him- self —he’s more interested in his friends. Although Jimmy is a real American, he doesn’t exercise the American prerogative, “griping.” Often, when I see him, I am reminded of Washington Irving’s tribute to Sir Walter Scott, “Everything that comes within his influence seems to catch a beam of that sunshine that plays ’round his heart.” Jimmy’s cheerfulness never fails him—even in unpleasant situations, as, for instance, an hour before the “Echo” deadline. An ejaculation from the editor—“Another blank space!”—and Jimmy is on his toes, ready to go to Robbinsdale or Richfield for a cut of next week’s convocation speaker. Sometimes I think Jimmy must be annoyed by the assumed sophistication of his classmates, but he seems not to mind even this “new environment where sentimentality is frowned upon by schoolmates who are anxious to affect the sophistication so highly valued by undergraduate tradition,” as Hadley Cantril says . That’s the Jimmy of yesterday. It was this Jimmy who opened PO. box 257 after chapel this morning and pulled out of it a long government envelope. But it was Jim who said, “Well— tomorrow I’ll be in.” —RUTH WELTZIN DIAL 26 Show less
