Excerpts from Fall 1958 Edition
Youth is like a mountain stream;
It plunges toward a secret dream.
Swift and fast the current flows;
The way is rough, but on it goes.
Though the path it does not know,
Each new rock will see it grow.
Onward, onward, make your way;
There's no time to waste today.
Now's the time! Oh, don't you see,
Soon in sight your goal will be?
Now, at last, your path is clear;
Live the dream that is so dear.
There are many sounds I love to hear
Like happy children playing near;
The softly falling snow at night;
The north wind blowing with all its might,
The rain, the hail, the pound of sea;
The busy humming of the bee;
The first loud squall of life anew;
And a soft voice whisp'ring, "I love you."
The half-time talk was said with force;
The shouting coach was growing hoarse.
"The victory road
lies right out there,"
He pointed, tearing out his hair.
Alas, he did not know the school;
He pointed to the swimming pool.
They dragged the bottom for those lads,
All weighted down with
They're stalwart boys with lots of vim
Who missed the game but made the swim.