16 THE DIAL pily occupied, and soon Mother Roberts had everything ready. Eagerly she mixed the batter. Carefully she beat the em. The stove, it had never baked an angel cake, but she trusted it so well. It could not fail her now. The hour that the cake baked was long. Mother Roberts watched the... Show more16 THE DIAL pily occupied, and soon Mother Roberts had everything ready. Eagerly she mixed the batter. Carefully she beat the em. The stove, it had never baked an angel cake, but she trusted it so well. It could not fail her now. The hour that the cake baked was long. Mother Roberts watched the clock anxiously. She peered into the stove oi! and on, and as the cake rose higher and higher and took on the golden hue of a perfect angel cake, she sat down in her rocker by the window to rest. Her head began to droop, and George was a boy again smiling at her between mouthfuls of perfect angel cake. Suddenly she started in her sleep. Something was burning. Wide awake she ran breathlessly to the stove and flung open the door. A thick cloud of smoke rolled out to fill her eyes and make them smart. Careless of her hands she drew forth the charred remains of the angel cake and placed it on the table before her. An endless moment she stood looking at it, then she walked slowly to her chair. Outside the darkness began to fall. MARTHA Rossmc, '36. Show less
31 Wope The day is past, And in the west The sun breaks through Thick clouds, To cast a rosy glow O’er all the earth. Our life is past; The mists draw back, Show silver rays 0f hope Which lie beyond the dark 0f tasks undone. MARGARET STEEN, ’37.
6 THE DIAL For the first time in many years, Arnold was in church, hungrily devouring the words of God as His messenger proclaimed the glorious victory of Christ's resurrection. And when the happy congregation arose to sing the beautiful Easter hymn, “Christ is risen! Hallelujah!” Arnold, too,... Show more6 THE DIAL For the first time in many years, Arnold was in church, hungrily devouring the words of God as His messenger proclaimed the glorious victory of Christ's resurrection. And when the happy congregation arose to sing the beautiful Easter hymn, “Christ is risen! Hallelujah!” Arnold, too, arose to blend his voice with theirs. The service was over, and he left the church. But no longer did he creep stealthin on his way; he was a new man with the joy of Easter burning in his soul. He had seen his own Christ crucified—and glorified! Life was bright and beautiful before his eyes. Am“ S. KVEBN, ’36. Show less
I3 Re-echoing from its chapel hall. And then I see one standing there, By the window with vacant stare, Dreaming perhaps of woodland streams . . The song, it fades . . . and so his dream. Ah.’ dear friend . . . I wish once more That I were passing through its door. I would not stop my idle dream,... Show moreI3 Re-echoing from its chapel hall. And then I see one standing there, By the window with vacant stare, Dreaming perhaps of woodland streams . . The song, it fades . . . and so his dream. Ah.’ dear friend . . . I wish once more That I were passing through its door. I would not stop my idle dream, Foolish as that thought may seem; For dreams they say are phantasy . . . Perhaps, but they have set me free. They were the keys to hidden doors, And kept me on youth’s restless shores. IVere it not true. . . . But I regret Gone are those men (I’ll not forget) Those guides of learning . . . alas they’re dead, And each their souls to heaven sped. But they’re not dead . . . their spirit lives, Summed unnumbered times, and gives The world that noble part of them Which they gave us . . . full to the brim! It’s growing late . . . I weary you With memories that I pursue, For you are young and I am old, And memories to youth are cold. Some day I’ll be to school once more; T’will be my God who ope’s the door; And then once more I’ll bind the tie . . . It is for this I dream and sigh. I’m sorry sir . . . I mean that tear . . . You see to me the school is dear. That tear stole front beneath my eye, I meant you not to hear that sigh. That is why when night is nigh; That is why when night bird’s cry, And sobbing is the willow row, My head upon my breast hangs low. I LE ROY ELSTER, ’39. DIAL Show less
0!: SM A Yorsc LAD sat on the shore of a lake. the cool wind brush- ing across his face. Nothing could be heard but the lap. lap of the water. He dreamed of the time when he would be a man, successful. famous. and ac- cumplished. -9, Many years passed. The little boy of yesterday, now a picture... Show more0!: SM A Yorsc LAD sat on the shore of a lake. the cool wind brush- ing across his face. Nothing could be heard but the lap. lap of the water. He dreamed of the time when he would be a man, successful. famous. and ac- cumplished. -9, Many years passed. The little boy of yesterday, now a picture of material success. revisited the scenes of his childhood. As he stood on the same spot, his disillusioned eyes yearned for the time of his youth, the time when he was able to think of lover things that were not true, the time before he had met that one blind hour of success. He was ready to trade everything he had acquired for—just dreams. Is there anything in the world’s success besides wealth, fame, and perhaps even a case of nerves, or anemia? The young lad found that the colors of success faded quickly. He had lived for a day and longed for the things which endure always. So, if Providence has planned for success to come to you or to me, my one hope is that success will bring with it Spirit and Truth to lighten the days forever. LUCILLF. MANLEY, ‘40. fitfi'fit WW I set them free And let them roam, A5 vagabonds Without a home. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ‘40. DIAL 24 Show less
29 39 Still, fine! Know 7441} ’4»; god Depressed in mind and heart I roamed one day Along a narrow mountain path which wound Into the valley far below. The sound Of mighty falls which veiled their course in spray; The grandeur of huge cliffs which round me lay; The songs of birds who joy unmarred... Show more29 39 Still, fine! Know 7441} ’4»; god Depressed in mind and heart I roamed one day Along a narrow mountain path which wound Into the valley far below. The sound Of mighty falls which veiled their course in spray; The grandeur of huge cliffs which round me lay; The songs of birds who joy unmarred had found; And fresh and flow’ring verdure all around Enthralled me as I roamed along the way. I paused in awe of all this glory bright; And in that moment suddenly a light Within me shone, and cheered my soul distrest; For then did life’s Creator, Lord, draw near, And gently spoke in accents sweet and clear, Assuring me of comfort, peace and rest. MARCY DITMANSON, ’40. firtfirfir Time! What is it? Like some huge clock It drives the minutes by So swiftly that we catch our breath, And wonder—why? MILDRED OUDAL, ’40. DIAL Show less
DIAL paddled 3% For many years he now had strive-n, Leader, guide, and friend to all, In spirit from the Master given; Never was be known to fall. Long weeks he spent in constant duty, 'Without murmur or complaint, While lifting us to realms of beauty, He alone could truly paint. Through everyday... Show moreDIAL paddled 3% For many years he now had strive-n, Leader, guide, and friend to all, In spirit from the Master given; Never was be known to fall. Long weeks he spent in constant duty, 'Without murmur or complaint, While lifting us to realms of beauty, He alone could truly paint. Through everyday he struggled bravely To perform his given task, That we who, for success, prayed gravely, Might have nothing more to ask. For though he said naught, we were certain That his work was not in vain, And that when God had drawn the curtain, We would see a wond’rous gain. For him, whom illness had o’er taken, We were oft constrained to pray, That he be not by God forsaken, As in pain he lay each day: It seems that God, though, was unwilling That our loved should here remain; And so, while angel choirs were thrilling, He removed the soul from pain. To all who loved him, his leave-taking Brings great loss and greater grief; Yet we are glad, all else forsaking, That his suflering was brief, Rejoicing in the loving kindness Of the God in heaven above, Who looks on us in all our blindness, With an understanding love. Show less
She stood, a mighty oak against the sky, (Eternity and God became a tree, ) ’Twas as the Word made flesh; it shaded me, For I was just a little tree, not high, That needed shade or this poor life would die. As autumn came and shook the hugh leaves free The cutter came and took away the tree, The... Show moreShe stood, a mighty oak against the sky, (Eternity and God became a tree, ) ’Twas as the Word made flesh; it shaded me, For I was just a little tree, not high, That needed shade or this poor life would die. As autumn came and shook the hugh leaves free The cutter came and took away the tree, The mighty oak, and left me here to try To live alone; an empty sky I see. God and eternity returned to mist; It has no stature now. I think aloud To form this mist into a patterned cloud, But loneliness my soul cannot resist; God, bring the IVord made flesh again, a tree. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ’40. DIAL Show less
When evening creeps to spy on day, And peers down where Sol’s final ray Gently smooths the ruffled rill And steals across the wooded hill To kiss the flowers and then lays Them to rest at the end of day Ere he turns to his Western home. Night steals across the grassy loam While the wind rocks the... Show moreWhen evening creeps to spy on day, And peers down where Sol’s final ray Gently smooths the ruffled rill And steals across the wooded hill To kiss the flowers and then lays Them to rest at the end of day Ere he turns to his Western home. Night steals across the grassy loam While the wind rocks the reeds to rest And plays among the firs that sway On yonder hill . . . dark in the West. And there beside the river’s way I watch the merry stars at play, Dancing slow in the darkened skies To catch and hold man’s weeping eyes . . . Standing alone face toward the slay; As each maid winks her roguish eye The moon appears a bended bow, And dims them. The stream murmurs low And sings of Wisdom’s ancient grace Beheld by time’s unwinking eye, Saying . . . “Behold I lift the lace!” And then . . . I closed my eyes and saw God’s smiling face, And with him one other smiling through the lace, Together standing hands tightly clasped, Their love so great it made me gasp. “Oh God! what fools we be to misunderstand The things in love that Thou hast planned!” LE ROY ELSTER, ’39. DIAL Show less
74¢ Swan On the road to Calvary, Burdened by our woe, Sufiering in agony, Jesus Christ must go. He, the Son of God and Man, All our debt to pay, Long before the world began Wished to go that way. All our guilt and grief and pain Thus in love He bore, That our helpless hearts might gain Life... Show more74¢ Swan On the road to Calvary, Burdened by our woe, Sufiering in agony, Jesus Christ must go. He, the Son of God and Man, All our debt to pay, Long before the world began Wished to go that way. All our guilt and grief and pain Thus in love He bore, That our helpless hearts might gain Life forevermore. Son of God, Thou camest so From Thy heaven above. Help our human hearts to know How divine that love. P. A. SVEEGGEN. DIAL Show less
us would have chopsticks. Whenever we saw a scorpion, we would pounce on him, pick him up by his tail or body and drop him with his fellows in the jug. Sometimes the sharp, black stinger would be uncomfortably close to our fingers, but the very thrill eclipsed the sense of danger. An evening’s... Show moreus would have chopsticks. Whenever we saw a scorpion, we would pounce on him, pick him up by his tail or body and drop him with his fellows in the jug. Sometimes the sharp, black stinger would be uncomfortably close to our fingers, but the very thrill eclipsed the sense of danger. An evening’s catch usu- ally totaled about twenty scorpions. Some of these were pur- chased by medicine men who pulverized them and sold them as an efficacious cure for all ailments. The remainder we retained as pets and specimens. Scorpions are interesting pets; their actions and reactions are at times very peculiar. Free-for-all fights were not uncommon in our jug; there were few fatalities, however, for scorpions are immune to each other’s toxin, and one could sting his tail off without producing any disastrous effect on his neighbor. They are rapacious creatures; I was often really ashamed of them. Their diet consists chiefly of live grasshoppers, crickets and adolescent scorpions, not to mention considerable dirt and vege- tation. One morning a young lady scorpion added a group of forty babies to my collection. The whole brood, flourishing little white tails with a tiny black spot on the end of each, re- posed on the back of the mother. The other inmates were en- raged apparently at the addition to their number, for whenever a baby fell off its mother’s back, they proceeded to eat it up This process continued, until I became exasperated by the carniv- orous nature of the scorpions, and put an end to everything by giving them all a generous dose of alcohol. A few days later the scorpion tribe exacted just retribution. It dispatched a messenger, who stationed himself on my door- knob. When I entered my room that evening, he gave me his message, a very painful one indeed, and went on his way— revenged. MARCY DITMANSON, ’40. fififiri’k Why are we always demanding the desserts of life when we have nothing but crusts to give in return? — SARA DIXEN, ’39. II DIAL Show less
PM Through the dark night A guide I would he, Reflecting the light Of the One who guide: me. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ' o. 4 1"; 527 79: Poetry expresses much and leaves one CXPI‘CSSlOfllCSS.—-i\'IARGIE ENEMARK, ’40. sfiri‘tifr Thinking that the other person is egotistical is only evidence of one’s own... Show morePM Through the dark night A guide I would he, Reflecting the light Of the One who guide: me. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ' o. 4 1"; 527 79: Poetry expresses much and leaves one CXPI‘CSSlOfllCSS.—-i\'IARGIE ENEMARK, ’40. sfiri‘tifr Thinking that the other person is egotistical is only evidence of one’s own egotism. — MARGIE ENEMARK, '40. firifri’iz An apology is the acknowledgment of error, not the giving of excuses. — MARGIE ENEMARK, ’40. 23 DIAL Show less
faén Wayw’d ' .. "-' , N 0. d k h h 0 NE seeme to now w y Jo n Wayne lived alone far up in the I} mountains, and no one seemed to a,“ care. For many years he had seemed \(sfitw/ thW 1 content with his isolation except for an occasional trip to the village and once when he had gone east to visit... Show morefaén Wayw’d ' .. "-' , N 0. d k h h 0 NE seeme to now w y Jo n Wayne lived alone far up in the I} mountains, and no one seemed to a,“ care. For many years he had seemed \(sfitw/ thW 1 content with his isolation except for an occasional trip to the village and once when he had gone east to visit his Alma Mater. Indeed John Wayne was contented, for, as he some- , _ times mused to himself, “What more L; is there to be had except life, and ' life was so peaceful being alone.” Yet there was one thing even in the mountains which did not give John peace and that was Castle Rock. It loomed high above the mountains and forever acted as a challenge to him. On occasions he thought of climb— ing to its summit; that would be his pilgrimage. He really didn’t believe in pilgrimages but when he had been in college he had often read about them and had been fascinated by them. He liked best to read about Paul’s Visits to Sarepta and Caesarea and the history of the Great St. Bernard Pass in the Alps. The more he thought of making the pilgrimage the stronger the desire grew until finally he decided to make the great venture; he would scale Castle Rock. Early one morning before the mist had risen, John Wayne set off, mounted on the Great Sorrel, his favorite horse. After miles of treacherous riding over streams and rough ridges between towering pines and pointed pinnacles he began the ascent. Up, up, up, clamored the solitary rider. Birds were singing and deer could be heard scampering over the small stones, but later these, too, were left below. He had passed the timber line and the strong tang of pine could no longer be scented. After much labor John reached the organ—like spires, and he knew that he would have to leave the Great Sorrel behind and continue alone. He looked up and saw the summits of the smaller steeples, but the huge one in the center was covered with snow and a cloud hovered at its peak. 27 DIAL Show less
Qacl RM My J/efll‘ Across the troubled waters of life’s sea, God reached His loving hand and beckoned me; He beckoned to a life of joy and peace, A life where sorrows all would somehow cease. Across the disappointments of the day, God’s W’ord shone out and seemed to light the way, And so led by... Show moreQacl RM My J/efll‘ Across the troubled waters of life’s sea, God reached His loving hand and beckoned me; He beckoned to a life of joy and peace, A life where sorrows all would somehow cease. Across the disappointments of the day, God’s W’ord shone out and seemed to light the way, And so led by His wondrous guiding light, My soul was made more strong to do what’s right. Across the trials that God sends to test, His hand is stretched to help us do what’s best, That we may prove our faith sincere and true, For only God can help us this to do. And so, God’s Hand is stretched across to me, To strengthen and to help so I may see, That every trial has been planned with care, That I may meet and love my Saviour there. MILDRED RYAN, ’40. fififik I am just one tiny thought Of the eternal mind, And as I live, this thought becomes A poem, full, refined. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ’40. DIAL Show less
71¢ Swim SLOWLY but steadily from the hazy depths of the nodding sage emerged the form of a solitary rider. As the figure approached the crest of a rocky foot-hill and came to a halt, its features be- came silhouetted against the orange hue of the fading sun. White lines of perspiration on the... Show more71¢ Swim SLOWLY but steadily from the hazy depths of the nodding sage emerged the form of a solitary rider. As the figure approached the crest of a rocky foot-hill and came to a halt, its features be- came silhouetted against the orange hue of the fading sun. White lines of perspiration on the drooping neck of the mustang gave evidence of a long and difficult journey; the rider, in harmony with the mount, silently bent his head. Two braids of black hair fell across his bronze chest; a quiver of flint—pointed arrows hung loosely from his side, while the graceful span of the bow lay balanced across the horse. Beaded buckskins protected the lithesome body as he sat motionless, mysteriously surveying with his dark eyes the expanse of prairie which lay before him. Then, suddenly the horseman drew the rein, reeled the steed, and quiet— ly disappeared below the bend of the ridge. RALPH SLET‘I‘EN, ’40. airtk‘fir 7a Mat/1M You’re not like shadows cast by winter’s tree, That throws its whiplike form upon the snow, That I should live in fear since I must grow Within the bounds of shadows cast by thee. You’re like the shades that fall on summer’s lea. The lacy shadows of your leaves give flow To fuller freedom that where’re I go Your soothing shade will cool and cover me. I will not feel the toil and pain of day Since you do shade me from the burning sun Lest I should wither long before I’d grown Quite tall enough to cast shades of my own, That I may take your place when you are done, And cast your shadow when you’re called away. MARGARET CHRISLOCK, ’40. DIAL Show less
