After laboring over a column that is meant to be pretty good - at least comparatively speaking - I lost my nerve. The timely subject was "School Days" - in Conemaugh Township, shortly after the turn of the century. Now, that subject is a fruitful one, especially if a child is restless and brimming with mischief. But I am afraid my story would embarrass a certain teacher. At least I must consult her first. Monday is Labor Day - a holiday. There will be no linotype work done that day. So this can be but a greeting and a warm salute for the poet of our town - Dell McQuiston Harmon. Aren't we bursting proud of her? The poem is a perfect gem. In tune with David, the psalmist, who said,
"To the hills I lift mine eyes
Whence my hopes of succor rise,"
In her imagination the hills take on animation - to hail her at the dawn of life, to pipe to her soul's dancing in life's full tide, to sigh with her in the twilight of life, and then to moan at the last sleep. I don't understand about the "rubies," but aren't the 'hyacinths' symbols of the life, or immortality of the soul? Tell us, dear Mrs. Harmon. God bless your beautiful, questing spirit.
Florence B. Taylor
Next - 9/15/49 - School Days
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