Newspapers / Mars Hill University Student … / April 1, 1949, edition 1 / Page 16
Part of Mars Hill University Student Newspaper / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
m consisted of the graduating recital lejuices to see Ka/iIt +-lnr orirtTMae o Un ■m V anc peri lom: it c wi IS r ion: inal : b; 3le dat tity sen t s al tcti his jer; ilis ps voi !W de; nt. P Is f i :al de lal k gs re ep le ■ t t es sti r zo LS I ' {Symphony of Myself Moods: hot, swift, impatient, gloomy, silent, tranquil, moods of fire, force, and passion, all these make up the measures in the sym phony; but these are not the melody. They rise and fall each day as I add a few more notes to the symphony of myself. Some times they rise to a crescendo of crashing chords with many a dis cord rising out of nowhere to cut the harmony of the piece into al most unrepairable ribbons. Slowly, painfully slowly, these poorly written chords, which could never bear any semblance of har mony, fade away. Even when their final echo is dead, the memory lingers and causes others to forget whatever bit of melody might be found. Many measures, perhaps some of which will transcend all others I may ever hope to write with my life, pass unnoticed until long after I have written the final rest. Perhaps someone will pick up the records of my attempts, wipe away the discords, and see the little good that I have done. It seemed that I could not go on, but I continued moving my baton, trying to keep the control of my life that it symbolizes within my own power. I was forced to go on, •counting every beat, until my •silent cry for aid became a prayer. Then it was that I saw him stand ing there. Time rushed on, my symphony continuing with it, but the passing days did not disturb him. His melody continued fast or slow as he wished. It did not matter because he had all eternity •to finish. I heard a bit of the melody he was playing, and it seemed to calm my troubled soul. I caught a glimpse of his sad, lonely eyes—surely he was a “Man Bj Robert Kinser The evidences of my weaknesses are multiplied until I almost lose hope, but I cannot cease. I can not stop to go back and erase my mistakes. They must remain there for others to hear every time the symphony of my life is played. I must go on. Every note and chord in every measure must be written as it is played. I have no time to think of the proper continuation of the melody. The music races wildly higher and higher until it is almost a scream, and the beats grow faster and faster, continuing at a dizzy pace. The melody grows wilder and more discordant, but still the music goes on. Every note must be in its proper place. There is little time to look ahead to plan a bit of pleasant melody here or there. of Sorrows”—and they seemed to say to me, “Give me your baton. Let me conduct the symphony of your life.” He did not command; he only asked, but I could not help trusting him. I gave him my baton, and the moment it entered his hand the maddening, uncon trollable rush of notes and dis cords vanished, and then appeared (for the first time the melody of hopefulness, peace, sweetness, and strength. The maddening pace goes on, and my silent cries for help grow stronger as it seems that I must vanish into oblivion. Silent cries for help because there is no friend on earth who could help me though I cried aloud. Now the discords are gone because the Master controls the ■melody. He looks ahead and tells me what notes to write. Sometimes I try my own hand again, then the discords appear, but he is kind and forgiving and soon straightens ■out the tangled melody and starts ■me anew. I no longer fear each new measure and the day it rep resents because as long as he con trols completely there can be nothing but harmony from the symphony of myself. HILLTOP—PAGE SIXTEEN at.. submitting present Bap- Student directors included Allen Brown and Barbara Morris, and 0 Blankets & Spreads Last Testament (Continued from Page 14) A life is crushed with tears o’er “lips that speak no guile.” But man cannot be blamed: He does not understand. That what he fails to say can form a heartless band. Which ties itself in death . . . around a brother’s soul. A hand unpressed is pain. A word unsaid is cold. Of all sad things I’ve known in human hearts that yearn, I find none sad as th s: A flame of love unburned. Relief comes not from earth; her children turn away. Lame boys, if in heaven, would have been asked to play. Love would not be painful. Tears would be shed in joy. Because God welcomes there . . • a homesick, crippled boy. The mother’s tears halted as she realized that her son had given to the world the thoughts of a dying tragedy, which was caused by deeds of omission. She tenderly touched the lifeless hand, and stumbled blindly from the room- IT SAYS HERE— the prettiest gifts ore found at ,^^>ENTER- MATTHEW ONI HAYWOOD street E Al W T1 M Coil
Mars Hill University Student Newspaper
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
April 1, 1949, edition 1
16
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75