Thursday, April 9, 1925
the EASTER LILY
7?y Ruth Heath
The sun shone down gloriously on the
world beneath, and distributed each ray
of brightness and sunshine. The world,
in turn, reflected the radiant glow. All
nature was worshipping God. The sky
was the altar, the birds the choir, and
the swaying flowers and trees the con
gregation. Everything was joyful, tri
umphant, yet reverent. It was the Awak
ening! All things M^ere bursting into life!
Heaven and Earth breathed—Easter!
The old French cathedral loomed tall
and majestic on this new day. Hurry-
in
O' throngs, eager to live and to learn.
approached it, and entered. All their
faces seemed happy and content.
Amidst the people, yet aloof in her
soul, stood the solitary figure of a young-
woman. There was no color about her
save a lily which she clutched in her
hands. It was white—pure white in the
contrast against the drab blackness of
her gown. Occasionally she raised it to
her lips, then to her heart. She looked
upon the crowd with melancholy eyes,
and without interest.
Presently she lifted her eyes toward
heaven. They were filled with tears, and
her lips quivered. This day—this beau
tiful Easter day,—was to have been her
wedding day. There had been a sweet
heart, and they had met on an Easter
clay like this.
“Pll be back,” he had whispered; “I
must go to Paris—and paint. I shall go
to Italy, and to the Orient; I must paint
—I must, I must! I’m gone, Teresa;
you must wear a lily every Easter so
I’ll know you still love me. I won’t be
here to see, but somehow I shall know—
I shall know. I’ll come back five years
from now, and that day will be our wed
ding day, Teresa.”
He never did. It was not long before
word came that the ship on which he had
sailed had been wrecked. There was a
list of those saved. His name was not
among them.
Tears had never come. Her sorrow
had been too deep for that, but today,
with only tender, lingering memories of
him, she could not control them.
Her vision of yesterday passed as she
lowered her head, and entered the church.
She came again to the late afternoon
service, and listened prayerfully to the
beautiful Easter service. When it was
over, she lingered—something seemed to
draw her nearer the church which had
been her only refuge in those dark days.
The day was about ended when Teresa
stepped into the open. The sun had just
sunk beyond the horizon, and the soft
silver clouds of night were gathering.
A few stray stars showed their faces,
and a silence prevailed. It was twilight.
The girl stopped on the great stone
steps and inhaled a few breaths of cool
evening air. She looked down at the
lily she still carried. Long she looked
into the flawless white depths of it. With
a sigs she lifted it to her lips.
“Oh, Easter Angel! Easter Angel!”
she breathed, “bless this lily—this sacred
lily!”
Her hands fell to her sides. The finger
relaxed. The lily fell to the ground.
She turned, away, and walked slowly
from it. She did not see the man stoop
to pick it up. She did not see him hasten
to her. She only heard the gentle voice
inquire if she had dropped the lily.
She turned upon him and smiled. “It
was mine,” she said, “but I dropped it
purposely—” She stopped. She fell
back against the building. Her face
whitened. “Alan ! Alan !” she screamed.
The lily from the man’s hand fell to
the pavement below. His face also had
grown white. He took a step towards
her and grasped her by the shoulders.
“Teresa ! It can’t be you—Why—!”
They stood facing each other — the
sweethearts of five years ago. For a few
minutes they stood thus, both fearing to
break the silence, and each afraid the
other Avould disappear. When it was
broken the eager questions came rapidly.
They were united again, and the reunion
was sweet.
They went together to the old church’s
ivy-covered arbor. The man in the moon
found them very amusing and when a
few stars asked what it was, he pointed
to the couple under the arbor. They
laughed too, but it was not the first they
had seen.
It was long before the girl asked about
the wreck, for they were absorbed in the
present.
“I thought you were dead; your name
was not among those saved,” she told
him.
I know, said Alan thouhtfully, “some
natives from an island rescued me. You
knew I went by way of the Pacific so I
could visit the Orient, didn’t you? Any
way, the natives were kind to me, but^ I
was very ill—I had been badly hurt.
“I remember very vaguely of a ship
picking me up and I remember the kind
captain who took me to a hospital in
Shanghai. I was better in a few months,
so I sailed for France. It was then,
Teresa, that I set out to find vou.
“Days of bewilderment followed. You
had moved from that part of the coun
try. Everything was in confusion. But
1 found you, two years from the time I
left for Paris; you were going into this
church on an Easter Sunday—”
But why why didn’t you come to me,
Alan?” she broke in wildly. “Why did
J'Ou leave me to suffer—to live in such
torture? Oli, you were cruel! I do not
understand—Alan, tell me!”
The man bent his head.
“You did not wear an Easter lily,” he
said simply.
There was a pause. Then she said
softly: “Did you think I had ceased to
love you? Oh, never, Alan, never! I
only thought you were dead and nothing
mattered then. Everything was useless—
impossible; but today, that would have
been our wedding day, it seemed—well,
I had to!”
“Did you say, ‘would have been our
wedding day’? It shall be! I’ll get a
license even if it is Sunday, and we’ll be
married in this church tonight.”
He rose swiftly and caught her hand.
“Yes, yes,” she rose laughing, flushed
with happiness. Suddenly she caught
her breath.
“Wait,” she exclaimed, “I forgot some
thing ! I’ll be back in a minute!”
She rushed out to the cathedral gate,
l)assed the great steps to the pavement
where the lily had dropped. She pushed
her way through the crowd, and searched
with care. At last she saw it, and bore
it up triumphant. It was the Easter
lily. It was no longer pure and stain
less, but tarnished, crushed and broken.
But that was only its body. Its blessing,
its message still lingered—and still was
sweet.
The girl held it like some priceless
jewel.
“Oh, Easter lily!” she cried, pressing
it to her heart, “what happiness you have
brought me—what joy!”
Significance of a Flower
By EvEi.Yxr Rives
We think of spring as the time when
flowers come to life again, the time that
the earth awakes from its slumbering.
The sweet flowers go to sleep under their
blankets of snow in the winter, to awake
again in the spring when the first warm
rays of sunlight strike them. They come
to bring joy and happiness to all the
world and new hope to those who are
downcast. Love and faith are born anew
in our hearts as we see the dainty flowers
spring up all around.
All this symbolizes to us something
greater, even more miraculous than the
awakening of the green earth. It re
minds us that Christ rose from the dead
at this season of the year. He rose that
he might show his people that life tri
umphs over death. He taught his fol
lowers to love life, but still not to fear
death. Indeed, there is no death, for all
shall live again. By his own death and
rising from the dead all may know that
there is life eternal.
And so, as spring comes, with its joy
and new life, let us think of it as some
thing holy and wonderful. May we not
see Christ Himself coming to earth
again in the form of a flower to bring
us new hope and to reawaken our love
for Him?
Surely we all shall be down for a
while, dreading the dark and cold, but
as He calls the tulip to life again, shall
we not more surely feel the rays of His
perfect love calling us to Him? The day
of miracles has not yet passed; we are
only blind if we ask for more of a
sign. For every hard brown bulb laid
in winter’s earth brings forth its beau
teous blossom to proclaim the truth of
Immortality.
THE EASTER SONG
By E. Ruth Abbott
Little Michael lived in a tumble-down
house in Ancona, Italy, witli his mother,
father, and four brothers. The other
children were contented to play in the
warm sands of the Mediterranean, but
not so little Michael. In his heart burned
a great longing. Only last week it was
that he had gone to the great city with
his parents, and while passing a fine
house had heard that wonderful music,
the strains from a violin—his violin! How
he dreamed of the time when he could
play music like that he had heard. He
knew he could, if they would only give
him a chance; if they would give him
that precious instrument and let him try.
So he sat on the sands and wondered how
he could get a violin. No one that he
knew had one; his parents could give him
no money, and he possessed not a coin.
Could he go to the great city and work?
Why could he not help the fishermen in
their trade,—surely his mother would
let him go.
For weeks little Michael labored in >95-
ing the fishermen, who seined their nets
not far from his home. The work was
not to his liking, but constantly he be
held his reward before him. When he
had earned enough, he might buy his
violin at the little pawn shop; and then,
oh joy! At last one day there were five
lira, and Michael came away from the
pawn shop carrying his beloved instru
ment. It was a poor violin but to Michael
it was all his hopes realized.
Then followed days of vital happiness
for the young musician. All his life he
had felt the glory of the sunrise, and
now he proclaimed it through his music;
now he softly sang the sweetness of the
evening, and told of the lapping of the
white waves of the sea.
One evening as he sat at the door of
his home lovingly touching his violin, a
strange thing happened. A coach of
a wealthy man drove down the street,
and as it neared Michael’s home the
horses took a slower and yet slower
pace, and finally stopped. But Michael
was singing of the feathery pink clouds
of the sunset and did not even know
that the coach had come to a standstill.
Slowly, he brought his piece to an end,
and lowering his instrument, he met the
eyes of an older man. Ordinarily he
would have been startled, but Michael
saw a look in the man’s eyes which told
him that he, too, understood his music
and appreciated it.
The visitor talked to his mother, and
Michael noticed tears in her eyes when
she called him to her. She told him that
the stranger was a great violinist, who,
hearing his music, thought Michael should
take lessons from the masters and had
offered to take him to the great city and
teach him. This was beyond all Michael’s
hopes, and during the next few iveeks he
lived in constant happiness.
There were many musicians in the city,
to whom Michael was content to listen
for hours. He was allowed to devote
all his time to his music; he had notes
to guide him, and, the joy of joys!—was
given a violin of rare quality for his
own. So Michael spent the following
weeks; he was happy beyond measure
and his heart thrilled with the many
songs of spring, the awakening of all
the earth. He was not aware that he
was a genius, or that critics and musi
cians considered his music superb; he
only thought of the sunrise and sunset,
the blue sea with its foamy white waves,
the heavy rains or the showers, the flow
ers in the bud, and all things else which
Nature had shown him in his little home
at Ancona. He told no one his subjects
but they always seemed to understand
as he played.
On an evening after Michael had play
ed to an audience in the studio of his
friend and teacher, the musicians told
him an unexpected thing. He had been
asked to play in the great cathedral on
Eastern morning! Could it be true that
he, little Michael, should send the strains
of his violin through the cathedral?
Easter morning dawned in all its
sacred glory. Michael awoke with his
heart filled with happiness for all the
world, the radiant sun, the song of the
birds, the trees lifting their lofty arms
heavenward, and the pure white Easter
lilies. Then as he wondered at all nature,
clearly the cathedral bells began to ring,
sending the joyous message to the coun
tryside, telling the world that Jesus, our
Saviour, had risen. Michael’s heart leapt,
for today he was to play in the great
cathedral.
Never had Michael realized a church
could be so vast, and oh, the altar laden
with Easter lilies! Amid the sweet per
fume of the flowers and in the glow of
the long white tapers stood little Michael
clad in a mantle of white and carrying
his violin. Slowly he raised his instru
ment, and caressingly, lovingly, prayer
fully touched the first few notes; then
suddenly the joy of the awakening of all
living things, and the Resurrection of
our Lord filled his entire being, and he
poured forth all the emotions of his
soul in such a song as had never been
heard before, his song of Easter.
Spring Dreaming
By Mary Jaxte Wharton
Yes, spring has come again, and with
it gay, wild fancies. Just as the birds
are joyous and happy, so our minds are
awakened to new ambitions and realiza
tions. We forget our dull, stolid cares
and enter upon new hopes and purposes.
Dreams of the impossible bring us joys
beyond measure. It is dull to plan only
the possible, the dry occupations of life.
Think how much fun we have in build
ing air castles and how beautiful they
appear to us.
“Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses
stand;
Com,e and: see my shining palace built
upon the sand!”
One may think it foolish to dream in
the sjiringtime, but nothing has ever been
accomplished which was not first an im
possible dream.
It has been said that madness is an
attribute of youth, and sanity of matur
ity. Particularly is this true in the
springtime when we spend our time day
dreaming in class. Our minds are wan
dering far away; we are thinking of our
intended hike across the continent, our
trip to California in a Ford to make a
fortune, or the new book we will write.
When the teacher asks us a question,
with a shock we come back to earth, real
izing how very little we know. Yet there
is a wisdom in this foolishness. Why
should we be young if we can’t have
wild plans? We agree Avith Stevenson
when he says, “Youth is the time to go
flashing from one end of the world to
the other both in mind and body.”
Faster
By Miriam Block
’Tis Easter morn! The huge, bright
sun rises up, up, until its golden head
can be seen between the big oak trees.
The fleecy clouds are crested with an
orange rim which gradually spreads out,
until the sky seems afire. A chirp is
heard; another, and still another, until
the air is filled with morning’s music.
Mother Sun beams down upon the tiny,
sleeping flowers. At her touch they lift
their smiling faces up as though to bid
her good morning. The trees covered
with neiv-born leaves stand erect, their
arms held upward, praying and praising
Him on High Who has given them an
other day anew.
A squirrel passes the path, alert, quick,
as it scrambles up the tree. The breeze
sings through the limbs of the oak; the
squirrel chatters back defiantly.
Easter! It brings with it tranquility,
reverence, and joy alike to nature and
to mankind.
AN EASTER GREETING
By Luch.le Phillips
See jonquils here—and violets there,
And green things budding everywhere;
As I came walking down the street,
The maiden Spring I seemed to meet.
Like children dancing at their play.
The tulips blow, so bright and gay;
And ail these glories, smiling, say—
“Easter’s joy is on the way!”
TELEGRAM
Dear Vio—
Lets elope without poppies con
sent. He’d crocus anyway. I crave to
kiss your red tulips, caress your curly
lilacs, and see the roses in your cheeks.
I can see the bridal wreath in your hair
and hear the golden bells ringing.
Forget me not,
Sweet-William.
Carolina
Dear Boys:
As the absence here of the weaker sex
prei^ents our fancies from turning to
houghts of the usual harbinger of spring,
we are forced to look back about twelve
months and satisfy our fancies with mere
memories of our last year in High School,
Avhen spring meant relaxation from work,
and poetry. But we shall try to avoid
poetry right noiv because what we have
to say doesn’t seem to fit any of the
different metres which we have been
studying.
It has occurred to us that perhaps all
of you do not realize the relations be
tween G. H. S. and the University, and
this thought seems to have been con
firmed a little by some rumors which have
reached us, to the effect that you might
let Greensboro’s usual percentage of
boys entering the University be lowered
next fall.
Long before any of us can remember,
perhaps even back in the dark ages when
our faithful old building was erected,
the boys of G. H. S. set a precedent
which has been followed up to the pres
ent time, and which we hope will be fol
lowed up to that time when any green
neophyte will require a guide to lead him
through the maze of barns, “A to Z,” to
the original building containing the muti
lated statues and the principal’s offices.
This precedent was that Greensboro Hi
should not only send the best of every
class to the University in quantity as
well as in quality, but that in addition
these classes should have such an aspect
of unity and should accomplish so much
that it could be said that the freshmen
from Greensboro excelled those from any
other city in the state in every respect.
And so our boys have always kept up
this standard, not only for Greensboro’s
advantage, but for each man’s advantag'e
individually; because every man knew
that he was not only coming to the best
school in the state and the South, but
that in addition he was to have the privi
lege of being closely associated with a
large group of boys who have maintained
and will always maintain a fraternal
spirit, which is of the utmost value to
every man, whether he be the biggest
man in college or just “one of the boys.”
The Boys of ’24,
By Charles Lipscomb.
SOPHOMORES CHOOSE MOTTO
At a meeting of the Sophomore class
Monday morning, March 30, the class
decided, by voting, upon the following
motto, “Fit via vi,” or “Energy wins the
way.” A number of mottoes were dis
cussed and voted upon before this one
was selected. Nell Thurman, the presi
dent, presided.
THE EASTER LILY
By Tallullah Matheney
Once, in the springtime’s dazzling hue,
A small white bud breathed and grew.
Washed by dew and a sunlit ray.
It spread its petals day by day.
Life did come to teach it duty.
Love warmed its heart to lend it beauty.
Purity came to dwell with it there
Within the depths of its whiteness fair.
And, ever the lily to our mind
Remains a symbol of love divine.
And now this lily, with Spirit’s dawn,
Nods fidl blown to the Easter morn.
AT EASTER TIME
By Evelyn Rives
All the world is now awakening,—
The crickets and the bees,—
The flowers have come to life again,
The birds are in the trees.
Szveeter thoughts than these they bring.
They are sung in every clime.
That Christ was risen from the dead
This glorious Easter time.
The lilies white azvake to tell
The pureness of His life;
The tulips red proclaim anew
The bravery of His strife.
So let us all rejoice once more,
And show His love sublime.
And start anew to make life true
This holy Easter time.