February, 104 x_
Di
Contrast
The moon hangs lev/; the earth
is still.
A breeze so calmly blows.
A gentle hush o'er vale and
hill ■ • '
'Tis peace; but one who knows
Remember- that in this- same
world
On many’ a battle field
The flag of hate flies there
unfurled.
Will cruelty never yield?
Julia Keys
If I y/ere A Little Boy
If I could buy
The thing I'd like^
I wouldn't buy
A scooter,bike.
I wouldn't want
Wo childish toys,
To 'help me when
■ I'm making noise..
I'd rather have
A gun instead
So I could shoot
That Hitler dead I
Mary Sale.
%ien blessed security is gone
, And fear a cold ill wind has blovTi,
^Te huddle up within our cloak
And let the world go up in smoke.
disaster rame. lYhat did we do?
We talked of horror. Sad and blue,
We sat around and moaned our plea:
Let them alone across the sea'."
We'll not be harm.edi They wouldn't
■dare' ’ •
And yet, across the world they tear.
lette
Pace Ihrce
The ball perches perilously on the
edge of the basket--the cro^vd waits,
tense,- breathless—the team looks hope
ful—and’ with the appearance of a’ snap
' decision, the ball tumbles through the
loop, and the score goes two points
higher I
Typical descriptions of any afternoon
in the gym. Basketball started with a
bang two weeks ago, and history is
being made by the record turnouts of
the various tribe miembers.
Miss Brown is conducting a seventh
period class each day for beginners,
and those girls who would like to play
in the tournament and don't know how,
now have the, , opportunity of learning
the fundamentals—from the floor up—to
the basket.
The gym is steam-heated now--and com
fortable. The crowd is enthusias-
tic--the teachers v/illing--and the
heads, Emma Lou Hughes and Louise
Emerson, eager for your appearance. So
shoot on . down to the gym, and either
watch or play.
- 0 0 o -
And still we sit while they go on;
Destruction reigns, and some are
gone.'
’.’/ill v/e be next? Ah, no one knows!
But how the fatal wind still blows.
And fear, with one faint gleam of hope.
Will hold us here—to sit and mope.
,0ur blessed security has fled;
An icy fear has made its bed
Within the heart of him who knows.
'I'/hat will remain when Britain goes?
—Lillian Burgin