The record of the class of 1914 . harrowing tale, // He Can Do It, You Can. reveals thegradual preponderance of Weltschmerz. Like the lexicographer and Horace, however, he is best known forhis sermons, in which none but his most intimates can feel the haunting sorrow. lni(|ue in flavor, butuniversal in appeal, we have next to record In a Square, an essay by Robert C. Smith by far the most fin-ished and sincere contrilnition of the Class to the Haicrfordian. We have only to regret the sterility of hismuse. Sharing dramatic honors with Lippmann we have Tlie Spirit of the Matterhoni by F. C. Stok
The record of the class of 1914 . harrowing tale, // He Can Do It, You Can. reveals thegradual preponderance of Weltschmerz. Like the lexicographer and Horace, however, he is best known forhis sermons, in which none but his most intimates can feel the haunting sorrow. lni(|ue in flavor, butuniversal in appeal, we have next to record In a Square, an essay by Robert C. Smith by far the most fin-ished and sincere contrilnition of the Class to the Haicrfordian. We have only to regret the sterility of hismuse. Sharing dramatic honors with Lippmann we have Tlie Spirit of the Matterhoni by F. C. Stokes,perhaps the Ijcst reminder of his cheery personality he could have left us. The editorial and other com-ments of Elkinton and Waples. respective editors-in-chief of the Ueeldy and Hazerfordian. may well ha\-emention. Our other litterati have for the most part invaded the realms of rhyme, from which, both fromconsiderations of s]jace and excellence, we shall quote the verses of whicli the Class has the right to bemost Pharo HAVERFORDIAN ll(l\HI)Van HollciiK. Taylitr Bye Ferjiiisnn Ijppniaiiii Nitohc H. KIkinInn Pliili|)S Waplis () (Jrein A. Ga Redeemed Like a miglity liillow beatingGainst a barren shore of sand;Like the fiery molten lavaLoading down a littered land ;Like the earth in ijainful travailAs she shakes and i|nakes with tire,Lest the world of fashion on herFail to feel her righteons ire. Like a thnnder cloud appearinf,-Oer the snrface of the awakes my sleeping conscienceFrom its vacant vicious the flash of lurid lightningConies a vision from the blind the sense within me,Tearing tears from sightless eyes. Oh ! this vision is a phantom, And I fear its mystic power. As it prods my preying conscience In this tragic, haunting hour. Oh ! my sin scarred heart is shattered, And this ]Hilse of life will cease. If I fail to feel the meaning Of this harbinger of peace. * * . * * * * Like the gentle soughs of Autumn, And the
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjecthaverfo, bookyear1914
