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Show r.i. Dec- Vlil Cat 22. - l)(ii 2nd Short Story - Essay: The Last lditolial Christmas The best evidence oi a plentiful land can be seen at Christ-- n as time. The house is filled v ith the aromas of festive foods. Ti e table- is laid with the best linen and ciystal, and the newly pohslud alur gleams in the candle light. The pine smell of the flash Cluistmis tiee mingles with the rich smells from the kitchen, and the multicolor of suit light, scattered among the b ant lies ot the tree, i achates a glow that caresses all that it tou Jus, smoothing away the harsh lines of reality. Snuggled within the lower branches of the tree are the presents and waiting to be opened by exciting fingers on Christmas morn. They ate packaged in brightly colored paper and tinsel and come m many assorted sizes. Man other evidences of Christmas are found throughout the house. The jolly red stocking over the fireplace give a feeling, ot eaietv with then- colorful Santa Claus and reindeer. The chspla of Christmas cards and the wreath on the door all add to the spi'it of the1 holiday. Surely when we pause and look around at the scene that is painted beloie us at Christmas time we cannot help but have a feeling of thankfulness. All peoples of the world do not cele-b- i ate Cbustmas with such wealth and generosity. Many peoples d not celebrate it at all. Do we appreciate the blessings of this land and this freedom? world were meeting in This was not the first time a conference of this type had been held, but the world situation had come to a stand still and the only way left was either peace or annihilation. The powers met with complete agreement that the decision made at this conference would be the accepted fate of the world. When the great snjtcr marks th book, it matters not who von, but how you played the gafcie. For a good many jours this scams to havo been the rule for the society in which the vv orld waited anxiously as the hours passed. Christmas was changed overnight from a husthng com- by Kris Knudson This was not just an ordinary Christmas, it was a Christmas that would go down in the annals of history second only to that first Christmas. The question was would there be a history to write it down for? The great powers of the - sur-jnis- es Gen-anc- - W L 1 V I The . iv it is Symbol of Christmas i t- - t Poetry: The Peace of Christmas l!s of people mercialism to a state ot w Santa Claus was set aside for what good would to' s Ik if the world was destroyed tomorrow-, parents least mil Churches were b"ing stunned destitute people who by thought that a last minute confession might help. hearts turned to God in iD lace of this final crisis. MmU g. ut-in- turn for a change1' in our attitudes toward this ru o! life It is foolish to think it doesnt matter who wins Ii it didn't nmtta they wouldn't keep score. More eu for us to set our i o' i r beto e it In- - become necessary or hrst pi ice and settle for nothing less. As lul'Hii, ,.s ,i stidii.ibodv, aL an individual, we must First me "poor losois but silent losers. Every time our nation nut at anv thine, oi cur school suffers defeat we should die t a htic bit inside. Deieat should become a bitter pill for I t ' sw ul! . bj Gene Faux The limped cast of the cold white hills Glows softly in the dark blue night. tVedged below, the sleeping valley chi ID, As the town lies quietlj in awe and night. The beauty of God's nature pierces through. While the flagrant doings of man lie dormant. A faint, profane ctv is the first clue Of those who dwell in the greatest of torment. Their houses are hell misery and rancor Hard set as they are gainst the beauties of life Their existence is hampered like the snared anchor On common reefs in constant strife. The greatest of Christmas come the night before For the lovers of peace and no one more. Xo longer can A.acrica as the leader ot the free world C"i nil mise ,.nd give in a lift!" here and a little there. We can n lancer give up lriencb and flee territory simply because wove wit io be good spurt-- , and lair to everv one. America must become the champion of democracy protec ti w the fn edom ot all people all over the world. We must al-iv s stiive to preserve demona.cv tor those who want it. As a studenfbodj we must set our goals on first place, whether it he a basketball game, a debate tournament, winning the safety flag, or whatever the contest it may be we -- w must never settle for second place. ! in the thought tb SONG OF SNOW place-settlin- e. CHILD The Last Christmas - c'-ea- j -- - 1 1 . un-ifoi- v t Mu' the people, howevu, wue m-listlessly waiting; waiting v bib their lives were held in tin hands of fifty men. Tih m :. and radio stations bam We as individuals must never settle for less than the top spot. You should be the one who receives the A; you should turn in the best paper. Let it he jou who has the most pep and yells the loudest. You be the one to get the promotion or . the raise. But if defeat should come be a silent loser. Accept de- - SgCODCJ Poetry: feat like a man. There is nothing worse than a poor loser, one who makes excuses or can always find someone else on whom to shift the tesponVibility of mistake. by Peggy Crockett So mav we all strive forward to perfection and first and shadows Slinky streaming sunlight circle the sky. for nothing less. Supurb sunsets surprisingly surrender symphonies ot stratis-pherPaul Denham Starlight scatters silent sun oer the snows satin surface. Third Poetry: Shimmering silver sparklingly shines, Silken sparks stride the soul and secretly swallow and shame THE the season. by Helen Free The crowded inn asleep, Third Short Story - Essay: A child's first cry is heard. The serving maid From her little room Hears and wakes and creeps by Paul Denham Silently down the stair. There it was, just- as she had How clearly it all came back The stable door swings open said it would be. The little cot- to him now. Papa going withAnd the trembling maid beholds tage lay about five miles out out his tobacco for two weeks A sick and weary woman of the city limits, buried deep so he coulo buy the children in the woods. a Christmas present. How the Holding the newborn Babe. Her mind is full of doubting It had been strange, meeting family would gather around the But she gives the woman aid. after all these' jears. Lars had fireplace and sing carols until almost midnight. Then papa accidently bumped into her at As she enters the inn again the train station on hie way would bring out the family To bring wine and bread and fruit, home from work. Julia said Bible and read the story of the She sees a star whose rays fall that some of the old group birth of Christ. To climax a perAbove her fathers stable. were going to get together on fect evening his mother would And shepherds with their lambs Christmas evy and sing carols serve the remainder of the ice She sees, rejoicing in the Birth. and they would eat until and hav e a' Christmas dinner. tlmv thought they would burst. The old group hadnt seen Silently the night sinks by, Slowly Lars started to run of one another since the much and the mother Day begins, sleeps. Communists had taken over, toward the cabin, he had to But when she wakes she sees the girl Those were the good old days bear the old time carols, he had And calls for her to come, Dvhen he and John and Anol h tc have some of the Christmas Thank you. sweet maid, for all youve done. and Julia had met together ev lamb, and the pie and ice cream Come, would you like to hold my Babe? or he would go insane. ery Friday night fo- a party at At last he reached the cotMr. Borgas Inn. Timidly, she takes the ChibI tage and hurst in. finding only And holds it dear t i hei . Only another h a m c t o go Adolf. He had on a brown The mother smiles and tells the pait The twinkly stars seemed to with a crooked cross on This infant Son shall pi,a; . remind Lars of the candles KD the arm This will get He is the Great, the Holy One" mother v ould put on the me a big patch. promotion, finding a This sacred Secret she imparts. Christmas tree. He remember- secret at his spy ed the long houis his mother place, vowed Adolph. The little maid sat wondering used to spend in fiont of the No! No! Dont shoot! As her heart filled with new hope, old coal stov preparing the Please! cried I just Lars. The King of Kings, Gods only Son, Christmas lamb. But the thing want some lamb and pie and Surely I am a blessed one. that he longed for the most ice cream. Dont underShe watched Him lying on her knee was the mince meat pie with stand? Please, no! you The pistol And felt the power of peace. the homemade ice cream. summoned the death knell for j e. m it they would be on hand lot the final decision. The question of world p' hi and how it would he resolved was debated and disputed hr a satisfactory conclusion out of the reach o1 these nations that seemed t" delight in the cold war hatth that had been passing between them for the last six veai-On- e country suggested iso! tion; but realizing it was imthe motion possible, Another spoke up t " complete disarmament; but another country vetoed it, savin-- it was an infringement on leg d rights. So the hours passed with no noticeable progies-.- . As an ebb came in the arguments a small man from a con paratively new nation ram J his hand, and upon recuvnm the chairmans consent suggested that all gentlemen present how their head in a h moments of . . . silent mu -- -- wa-table- d. -- -- tation. silence reigned in huge room a thunderous v began speaking, My child'1 my goodness and mere v strived with you for manv eerations; but you wouM harken unto my council; displeased with your cond and what you hav" done my earth; I have tome tr you the answer that will s, you from destruction it will obey my wmcD "The m pie of the world seam cl m instant to take a deep be the words rang clear b" As 1 1 -- i 1 -- 1 hear, Love one anothc r." Time he no 'its passage thundci stm - d- t ti'iic M I, In O! e' o' ' ' pc s to ;u i "id ef a nec men u m ,i Ii W lien a ll W ei t 'll Is oplv We mm tab " n lx ID and lne off m to t i i I ' li- . i t ( ' '1 - Lars, the bullet sunk chip m' his lungs. He fell headlong into the snow. The snow press e No cooly against his bps. . ice ava: Mother . . . no moic . . . please. |