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Tfianksg/w'ng 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 moreTfianksg/w'ng 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
long May Oar [and Be Brig/Ir Freedom brings a million things to mind. I think of children’s laughter, gay and loud . . . soap box orators proclaiming their rights and ideals, punctuated by the halting noises of streetcars, buses, and trains that carry the free to their goals. And the white picket... Show morelong May Oar [and Be Brig/Ir Freedom brings a million things to mind. I think of children’s laughter, gay and loud . . . soap box orators proclaiming their rights and ideals, punctuated by the halting noises of streetcars, buses, and trains that carry the free to their goals. And the white picket fence that guards each neighbor’s yard, only to keep the infant from escape. I think of the telephone wires that stitch the states together oe’r mountain and dale—the channels of thought where ideas run rampant. I think of little red school houses, steeped in the tradition of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that dot the country with regular precision in their march for truth. I think of America, synonym of freedom. Truly, the land of the free and the home of the brave. —— MARY LOU MORTENSEN You Walking by your side Thrills me to the core— And when you speak, It’s music to my ears. Your smile makes me yield To your trivial wish. Long are the hours Of your absence. You are like a Beautiful melody— Always with me, Yet so far away. — MARY LOU MORTENSEN 29 DIAL Show less
flty Will. . . Not 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 moreflty Will. . . Not 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 28 , “d-“_. w....._.‘. -— Show less
70 Spring Tinkling in the soft spring air, Music comes from everywhere, And it brings a new spring song. It is so frail; it can’t last long. It seems a web of ecstasy Is spun, connecting spring and me, With one glad song, so sweet and free. Ah, spring! What happiness you bring! My soul is... Show more70 Spring Tinkling in the soft spring air, Music comes from everywhere, And it brings a new spring song. It is so frail; it can’t last long. It seems a web of ecstasy Is spun, connecting spring and me, With one glad song, so sweet and free. Ah, spring! What happiness you bring! My soul is thrilled to hear you sing. Above the earth, above the trees Are clouds—of endless fantasies; Of dancing fairies in the snow, Which left the earth not long ago. My soul soars high on wings of song To heaven’s gate, where you belong. —— EVELYN LANDSVERK 0dr “ 1'” His stately walk, his piercing eye, Caught our respect as he passed by. His nature staunch, his stature straight, Beckoned us toward the golden gate. His comforting talks, his outspoken prayers, v Gave us a glimpse of the Christ he shares. His loving smile, his cordial ear, Turned our problems to heavenly cheer. But now he’s gone, the battle’s o’er. He’s taken his place on deity’s shore. Now we may say, how privileged I— To have known God’s man, our saintly “Si.” DIAL Show less
25 Reverie I saw a rose last night, A fragrant flower. It’s ruby-velvet petals lightly dewed; Scarce open yet, so young it was. I loved the flower—— And thought of you. I heard a song this morn, A happy robin sang enraptured; Song of life, and love, and joy. I heard the robin sing—— And thought of... Show more25 Reverie I saw a rose last night, A fragrant flower. It’s ruby-velvet petals lightly dewed; Scarce open yet, so young it was. I loved the flower—— And thought of you. I heard a song this morn, A happy robin sang enraptured; Song of life, and love, and joy. I heard the robin sing—— And thought of you. I felt the wind today, Fresh with unshed rain upon my face. I felt its soft caress— And thought of you. -—-CLODAUGH NEIDERHEISER DIAL ~ “4 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
Per/WM 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 morePer/WM 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
23 00 Milton? lie/l More horrible than raging Vesuvian vomit, Belching forth with waves of ruin, lies This infernal region of Hell eternal; here Is no redemption, grace, or mercy shown, No joy, or peaceful bliss, only anguish and despair. The howling of countless, scorching, licking flames, As... Show more23 00 Milton? lie/l More horrible than raging Vesuvian vomit, Belching forth with waves of ruin, lies This infernal region of Hell eternal; here Is no redemption, grace, or mercy shown, No joy, or peaceful bliss, only anguish and despair. The howling of countless, scorching, licking flames, As they cruelly torment the souls of thousands damned, Can scarce be heard above the screaming terror Of those enchained. All around arise Sulphuric odors, smoke, and salted tears. And from his lofty throne—where never yet A ray of light doth reach or air doth stir Save from his subterranean furnace —sits The dreaded ruler of all this horrid vale. And each time one, with cry of terrible anguish Would move the hinges of the iron gate, This huge Arch—Angel hurls him squirming anew Writhing within the lake of liquid fire. What hideous fiend, or monster, or rare brute Could bear the heat of this tumultuous sea, This endless range of horror, stench and smoke? Milton, the gods of Hell are living yet! —NORMAN NIELSON DIAL 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
how, I bound the two pieces together. Now my hopes were high again. Maybe Trixie could be saved, maybe we wouldn’t have to kill her, maybe— The days passed by slowly; they seemed to linger and drag on as do entire years. Not being able to endure the suspense any longer, I started to remove the... Show morehow, I bound the two pieces together. Now my hopes were high again. Maybe Trixie could be saved, maybe we wouldn’t have to kill her, maybe— The days passed by slowly; they seemed to linger and drag on as do entire years. Not being able to endure the suspense any longer, I started to remove the bandage. Scarcer had I begun when I smelled the odor of decaying flesh. That seemed to be the waning of the last hope. Undoing the bandage I saw that the wound showed no signs of healing. Grief-stricken I picked up an old burlap sack near at hand and a heavy piece of iron. Yes, Trixie must die. The sooner, the better. I called my uncle, who fully agreed with me, and so, while I tremblineg held the sack over Trixie’s head, he raised the iron above his head, poised and motion- less, as though reluctant to strike. Then suddenly he let the blow fall, and it struck with a dull thud on poor Trixie’s head. Wrapping her in the sack, I carried her into the midst of the woods where I prepared a shallow grave for her. Gently I placed her lifeless body into the earth, and slowly, so slowly, I covered her with the black dirt. I thought then of God, and dimly won- dered if He had made any provision for dogs to enter heaven. If he did—then my speculation stopped and these somewhat reas- suring words of an old western folk song rang in my ears: “Now if dogs have a heaven Then there’s one thing I know— That old Shep (Trixie), has a wonderful home.” ——JUSTIN TORGRIMSON 21 DIAL Show less
suddenly spring out into the air out of the sickle's way. “is oc- curred again and again, and finally I relaxed my vigilance and payed less attention to where she was. About half-way through my third round I noticed that Trixie had stopped in front of the sickle and was curiously watching the... Show moresuddenly spring out into the air out of the sickle's way. “is oc- curred again and again, and finally I relaxed my vigilance and payed less attention to where she was. About half-way through my third round I noticed that Trixie had stopped in front of the sickle and was curiously watching the noisy “thing” move toward her. Closer and closer it came! Trixie turned to go at last, but alas, too late. I saw her foot slide into the teeth of the bar, then I heard the sickening sound of a knife cut- ting through bone. Instantaneously with a bark of pain she jerked away and hobbled toward the middle of the field. By this time I had stopped the horses and had started to follow Trixie. How— ever, I couldn’t leave the horses alone, so I had to wait for an opportunity to attract my uncle who was working in the next field. After some time, I managed to get his attention and hurriedly attempted to explain what had happened. He quickly ran to the place where the dog lay, and came back with the report that the leg was cut through—clean through—and that the foot was attached by but a thin piece of flesh. Needless to say, I was horri- fied and pained beyond words at the thing which I had done. Then, right at this inopportune time, it started to rain. My uncle ran to his tractor shouting over his shoulder that we should go home, then return in the car to pick up poor Trixie. Jumping on the seat I slapped the horses hard, and set off at a dead gallop across the field. Home, I feverishly unhitched the horses, jumped into the waiting car, and drove down to pick up the dog. Arriv- ing at the field, we found Trixie bravely trying to hobble home on three legs, while the fourth flopped and bobbed in a most gruesome manner. Tenderly, lovingly, I placed her in the car and in spite of intense pain she looked up at me, and feebly wagged her tail in appreciation. My uncle had said little since the accident. Now, however, he informed me that we would have to kill Trixie. “No!” I cried. “No! Give me a chance to try to help her. The leg might mend together again.” Although my uncle was not convinced, I pleaded as I had never pleaded before. Finally, my uncle weakened and agreed to let me try. So, breathing a prayer for help I took Trixie out of the car and carried her into the barn. I rushed to the house, and with the help of my aunt, mixed some disinfectant, found some cloths, and made some splints. Then, as tenderly as I knew DIAL 20 Show less