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Show NOVEMBER, 1920 | FOR THE OF first issue. tok kK THE BUT Gold WHEN and Blue. tHOKOK I got home. sk sk kK ALL I could WAS THE €ats and skekk bats. iit COLOR of the harvest moon. » uct | OR | think about. aK BLACK ne AND Page Seven fe kek WHATEVER you call ‘it. | ok 2k ok 2K AND THEN I began | to be haunted. ok BY cA vision. tok kK OF THE STAFF in frenzy. seo kok BECAUSE I hadn’t turned in any copy. sek akOK SO I WAS driven | FO. ok 2K > > Tats: —Lucy Sanbourn. LIFE. Lite, like a romping Doth bear us on school his boy, shoulders full of olee, for a time. There is no path too steep for him to climb, With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea, By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime, And all the world seems motion set to rhyme, Till, tired out, he cries, “Now carry me!” In vain Life we murmur, “Come,” says, “Fair play!” And seizes on us. God he goads us so! He does not let us sit down all the day. At each new step we Till our bent backs Watching for Death feel the seem burden grow, breaking as we go, to meet us on the way. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox. |