USA > California > Alameda County > Oakland > Silver jubilee memorial Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal., 1868-1893 > Part 2
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She was followed in the Superiorship of the Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart by Mother Michael of the Saints, until the appointment of the present Superior, Mother Elizabeth on June 22, 1888. This excellent lady continued the great work begun by Mother Baptist, in the same spirit and with the same happy results. To her motherly solicitude, her hard working teachers are indebted for Our Lady's Nook. Possessed of fine administrative ability, thorough knowledge of the wants of the country, and a great good heart, she is at once a wise Superior and a tender Mother.
With such Superiors who have been seconded by most devoted self-sacrificing Assistants and by teachers of great excellence, and by religious of rare virtue, the progress of the Congregation is no longer a marvel. The Novitiate is most flourishing and is a true nursery of saintly religious and earnest, enlightened teachers- teachers who have before them a great field.
The grand work done during the dead twenty-five full years is a pledge of yet greater work to be done. This Congregation has a great future before it in California ; the good done by the Convent on Lake Merritt and its zealous band of teachers will increase a hundred fold. It takes no prophet to say that Ramona yet strug- gling in the South will rival its mother in good deeds, and in turn become mother of many Houses and Schools. At its silver jubilee, the chronicler will record greater things than we have done.
Our introduction grows beyond its limits, yet one word more to point out a charming trait of these Sisters, a legacy from their gentle Mother Rose. She would have her daughters thorough teachers and zealous Apostles ; but before all they must be devoted friends and loving mothers to their pupils. Judging from the his- tory of the Congregation, it seems to be a grace of their vocation to be such, and to win and hold the hearts of those who study any length of time under them.
This unselfish devotedness of these Sisters begets in their grate- ful children an attachment which is undying and which has a char-
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INTRODUCTION
acteristic sincerity and strength that is as beautiful as it is rare. The writer has been so charmed by this devotedness in which there is no softness, and so struck by this unusual attachment that he deems it worthy of special mention, revealing as it does the work of the true Christian teacher.
We must close-The Congregation of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary has deserved well of society and of God's Church in Cal- ifornia. During a quarter of a century it has labored earnestly in sanctifying and lifting up thousands of children who have received from its devoted teachers a Christian education; and to-day they are training in California alone, seventeen hundred girls to Christian virtue, and instructing them in all branches of learning.
Happy, thrice happy that country which is blessed by such teachers ! for they who form the Mothers of a nation, shape the des- tiny of that nation.
R. E. K., S. J., Santa Clara, Cal.
As WE advance in life we look onward less and upward more. We say we are less joyous but we are more peaceful. When every outward object has failed us we turn to whatever temple we have erected within, and if the outside structure has not entirely hidden all, there will be bright star-flashes and glorious sunshine struggling down to us .- Kate Keaney.
The Silver Jubileu
3 of the 1
isters of the Soly Games Jesus, ando Wary.
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O Names of all blessing. O thames of delight, The freshness of morning, the safety of night; The rapture of angels, while serapho, aflame
Grow fervidi in beauty at thought of each Name
Ochjames of all holiness Names of all pour, Before which the fallen archangels, still cover, Grand temptation's dread spells, dissolve, like the mist, When the sun in its, splendor the mountain has hisid.
Today's silver trumpets with gladnes, proclaim The sweetness and charm of each life giving Name'; Gond we, with the trumpets, exultingly sing The triumpho Hary, and Jesus our King !! Eliza Allen Starr.
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CONVENT OF THE HOLY NAMES OF JESUS AND MARY MOTHER HOUSE, HOCHELAGA, CANADA, P. Q.
٨
A. Wreath of Rhyme
(Woven for the Silver Jubilee of the Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, California, and offered with fondest con- gratulations to the Sisters of the Holy Names, founders and faithful guardians of that Sacred Home of Religion and Science.)
Thus, from out the Sunset Land Love's celestial message came !
" Consecrated vestal band ! " Bearers of My Saving Name,-
" Twined with hers, to whose blest care " Once her God His Childhood gave,-
" Rise ! and seek My Vineyard fair Waiting by the Western wave !"
Heeding well that summons sweet On the Master's quest to roam, Left His handmaids lov'd retreat In their far Canadian home. And, where Western hills are crowned With a fadeless purple glow Fitting spot for toil they found, Five and twenty years ago !
By the quiet lake that hid Near a City's throbbing heart, Shrined in calmness, well-nigh 'mid Tumult of that busy mart,
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
Builded they their simple home, And, Heav'nward, in the sunny glow, Reared the cross that crowned its dome- Five and twenty years ago !
In the Master's service there Have they labored long and well ? Let the ripened harvest fair, Let the laden vineyard tell ! Yes ! by countless treasures won, Favored hearts full gladly show Fadeless fruit of toil begun Five and twenty years ago !
In the worldly desert air Blooming with celestial grace, Or in cloister-gardens fair Finding safest, fittest place- Winners of unfading fame, Grateful meed they well may owe To the guides that hither came,- Five and twenty years ago !
Guardian of that glorious band ! With thy vowed ones, now, to thee, Daughters of that Golden Land, Dwellers by the Sunset Sea First and fondest tribute pay For the love that bade thee go,- Leading o'er that unknown way,- Five and twenty years ago !
Sower of the earliest seed In this Paradise-parterre !
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A WREATH OF RHYME
Gather, now, thy labor's meed- Of its bloom and fruitage rare Take thy guerdon, grandly won,- Grateful hearts, where ripened, glow Harvests rich, thy toil begun Five and twenty years ago !'
Fitting head of Order blest ! * When a golden gala-day Shall replace, within the West Faded gleam of silver ray, May'st thou greet its festal sheen, Saying, " Hail ! Memento-glow " Of that blest foundation-scene " Of fifty glorious years ago !"
Now, a fadeless wreath of fame Bring we, on his brow to place t Who doth wear his royal name, With such meek and Christ-like grace, And, who, at his Lord's behest Called ye, sacred band ! to sow Heavenly seed within the West Five and twenty years ago !
Faithful shepherd ! Pastor true ! Serving e'en His "least ones " needs ! Dauntless hand to dare, and do For the Master, hero-deeds !
* Rev. Mother Baptist, for seventeen years Superior of the Convent, and - now Mother-General of the Order.
+ Rev. M. King, Pastor of the Church of the Immaculate Conception, Oakland.
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
'Mid his labors grandly wrought, This is crowned with brightest glow: He these vestal toilers brought, Five and twenty years ago !
And he planned their earliest home- Finding rest for Faith Divine, With fair Science, 'neath its dome- And, unto its simple shrine At his summons, came his Lord Living Manna to bestow,- Love-sent laborers' rich reward,- Five and twenty years ago !
Now, a noble structure stands By the bright lake's peaceful breast- But his Heavenward-lifted hands, And his Ministrations blest Guides and guided still may claim, Still his care paternal know, E'en as those who hither came Five and twenty years ago!
So, a festal garland fair His by sacred right should be- He hath won a worthy share In this Silver jubilee- And its star-like rays serene O'er him shed memento-glow Of that blest foundation-scene Of five and twenty years ago !
Fadeless picture ! Still complete ! All the band then gathered here
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A WREATH OF RHYME
Twined in deathless union sweet, Brightly visioned, yet appear- E'en the loved ones, gone before To the bliss ye all shall know, Join the sacred scene once more Of five and twenty years ago.
Aye ! enshrined in silv'ry light, Gazing from their home above Sainted faces, pure and bright, Lavish smiles of fadeless love On their Convent home adown, While each saith, in murmurs low, "Sisters! toiling for the crown " By love promised, long ago,
" Patience! for a little space ! Yours our rich reward shall be- Passing feasts shall yield their place To immortal Jubilee. Then, 'mid gleam of matchless rays Ye shall say : 'How faint the glow Of our earthly festal days, Faded, endless years ago!'"
May, 1893.
HARRIET M. SKIDMORE (MARIE)
'Tis THE capacity for sorrow that measures the refinement and delicacy of the character .- K. K.
Twenty-five years Ago
Listen to the silvery chime of the Jubilee Bells! borne along the balmy air of May, to the violet-hued mountains of the Coast-Range. The great finger of the Dial of Time points to a quarter of a Century since the Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, first saw its Portals open and its joyous Pupils flock under its protecting spire.
As the rippling laugh of the scholars, old and new, re-echoes far and wide in the flower-decked rooms and in the perfumed grounds ; let us reverently lift the misty veil of time and cast a look at the dear Pioneers of the beloved Sisterhood. What a fair vision meets our view.
It is the holy hour of Vespers in the Cathedral of the City of Mary, far-famed Montreal. The Bishop sits on his throne in the Sanctuary, surrounded by a halo of Priests and Acolytes. Loud peals the great Organ, and solemnly the deep-toned voices of the Choir chant the thrilling prayers of the King Prophet. The last sounds have died away along the arched vault. Innumerable tapers illumine the grand Altar ; the incense clouds the air; the Bishop kneels in his Benediction Cope. But why, before ascending the steps, does he look up? We follow his gaze and behold, away off, above the Altar, six black-robed Nuns kneeling at the feet of the Queen of Heaven, in a small Oratory opening into the Church. With solemn prayer the Lord's Minister places them under the care
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TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
of the Virgin, "Star of the Sea," for they are going to unfurl the banner of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary in the far-away land of the Pacific Slope, and many a weary day they shall journey over the Oceans before they reach the Golden Gate of California. This is the eve of their departure, soon shall we see them on their way at the bidding of obedience. Gray dawns the early April day, but in the dim light we can see our dear young pioneers kneeling in the Chapel of their sweet Convent-Home, Hochelaga. Two Missionaries, bound for distant parts, are pronouncing their final vows ; one, is now an inhabitant of beautiful, pine-clad Oregon, and the other, the leader of the little band, is dwelling in the shadow of the Palm- trees of the coral isle, Key-West. Not many hours has the day grown older, when on this 13th of April, 1868, the tread of many feet is heard in the hitherto silent corridor : 'Tis the numerous ranks of the Sisterhood, who have been warned by the sound of the bell, to come and bid Adieu to the six travellers taking their depar- ture for the far West.
It is the 15th. The rain is flooding the streets, imparting a dismal look to everything around, but these brave pioneers wend their way to the dark, looming ship that is to bear them over the waters of the Atlantic. The deck of the Ocean Queen is damp and slip- pery, and the weeping skies have turned the azure hue of the Bay into inky blackness. But, lo! the dark clouds roll away, and the sun, darting his million shafts of light around, illuminates the scene. The whistle shrieks, the sails are hoisted, a thrill of life runs through the huge frame, the vessel has left its moorings and is turn- ing her prow seaward. Handkerchiefs are waving sad Adieus. Our Pioneers have commenced their westward journey, they are straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the dear Mothers and Sisters who watch the receding ship. Let us follow them in spirit over the wide expanse and eagerly listen !
" The hours and days have come and passed like the foam of the crested wave. We are now at the 25th of changeable April. It is
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORLIL
early morn and we sit on deck, looking at a far-away sail skirting the horizon. It would seem like a phantom ship, were it not con- verted by the brilliant day-light into a radiant object. What a sight meets our view as we turn our gaze westward : a long sandy shore, gleaming in the distance, tall trees balancing their rich, green foliage against the dazzling skies. The majestic Ocean Queen advan- ces leisurely on the mirrored bosom of the great Atlantic and now, we see a small town nestling among orange-groves, and graceful cocoa- nut trees waving in the warm sunshine their plume-like branches. We are in the tropics. Aspinwall next greets us, the whole of the dark population turns out to see the anchoring of the crowded ship. To our northern eyes, their costume is all too scanty, but when we will have felt the overpowering heat a few hours, we will wonder at it no longer. We land with umbrellas over our heads, not that it is drizzling but the hot sun permeating everything, gives us too ardent a welcome. Now we are seated in the kindly shade of a veranda whence we can see the dusky people of the Isthmus doing their marketing. Look at the exuberant piles of the Golden-apple of the South, the luscious bananas hanging in serried ranks on the long stem, the delicious pine-apple with its crown of glory. The merry urchins run about, wearing head-gear made of the fibres of the cocoanut-tree, with green parrots perched on their shoulders, trying to sell them to the passengers going to California. Some of the for- eigners buy the prattlers to make a new addition to the crew. There is a goodly noise of screaming, talking, parrot and monkey chatter- ing, and guitar-twanging. At last we hear above all that hubbub, the sharp whistle of the locomotive. In haste we board the train and are carried across the isthmus at thundering speed, whirling past dark, luxuriant forests, with immense palm-trees waving lan- guidly in the sultry air their huge branches of leaves, interlaced with long trailing vines, covered with large scarlet blossoms. We rush over the Chagres river, a beautiful little stream of limpid water coming down from these deep tropical shadows, to sparkle in
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REV. MICHAEL KING
RECTOR CHURCH OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION, OAKLAND, CAL.
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TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
the clear day-light. On its banks there is a small village whose houses look quite airy, being built on long stakes that makes the whole under part a kind of veranda, where the sleepy inhabitants may rest at leisure. Some of them look up now and seem sur- prised at the great amount of useless activity we display.
From the terminus on the shores of the Pacific, we are conveyed in small boats to the Golden Age. Our frail barks dance on the waters and tumble down the foamy waves like mere shells ; it is rather uncomfortable, but we soon reach our steamer and are taken aboard. In the distance the quaint old city of Panama is lost in the glory of the dying day. The Golden Age has managed to secure 1300 inmates for the trip to the Western Emporium.
April is waning and we are still on the billowy home of the mariner. Our patiently plodding steamer is taking a short rest. We are on the Mexican Coast, right in front of Acapulco, and can hear the chime of silvery-toned Spanish bells. It is the hour of prayer in the old Church on that high white bluff running down to the sea. We seem to be locked in, as all around are mountains at whose base we see plantations of strange looking trees ; their tall naked trunks would be ugly were it not for their glorious tufted heads. The town is small but possesses an old fort, which frowns on us, as if to ask our errand in this " terra caliente " of old Mexico.
The smiling month of May has dawned for us on the great Ocean. The Pacific has borne its name well for us ; its waters rip- ple like that of a beautiful lake in a secluded dell. It is already the sixth, in the evening, and we are silently watching the sunset gates swinging on their golden hinges. Violet, pink, and soft sea-green tints spread over the heavens, while gorgeous clouds of trailing light fling the loveliest hues over the tranquil waters. Our ship is fol- lowed by the diaphanous colors and its huge blackness disappears in roseate beauty. By and by Twilight closes her eyes and the Queen of Night steps forth. Lo ! it illumines the mountains of a distant shore. All breathless we look, and behold for the first time the dim outlines of our Promised Land, fair California.
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
It is May the tenth, we have, at last, reached the harbor of the great Metropolis that stands within the portals of the Golden Gate. Our steamer has stolen in silently, shrouded in the midnight gloom. What a glorious vision awaits our waking hour ! A large city lies before us and though it is very early, the infant day having barely opened its eyes, there is even then great bustle and confusion. The street-cars are rumbling down to the wharf, carriages whirl past, busy men are banging baggage up and down, and heavy carts are al- ready on their way toward lofty commercial houses. As we ride down the thoroughfares, everything is beautiful to our sea-wearied eyes ; even the dust-covered shrubs by the way are an elysian verdure to us lone voyagers. Presently, winding up a hill we come to the door of the hospitable Sisters of Mercy, who receive us with open arms. Rev. Father M. King comes to meet and salute the little band that have traveled so far to help him in the arduous labors of his ministry. Never has the great heart of the Pastor failed us in need, and always has he been the Father and Guardian of his religious children.
We cross the bay on a little steamer and land at the "Point," a veritable forest of gnarled California oaks. Flowers are nodding their lovely blossoms everywhere and the air is perfumed with their fragrant breath. Our good Pastor's home is literally embowered in roses. Further on by the banks of a smiling lake, back of the lofty mountains on whose top still sparkle last winter's snows, in a verdant . valley stands the modest little Convent which is to be our future home. We step down and the doors of the Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, open to admit its first inmates ; Sr. M. Salome, Sr. M. Anthony, Sr. M. Marceline, Sr. M. Celestine, Sr. M. Seraphine and Sr. M. Cyril. We exclaim with the Prophet : " Beautiful is thy tabernacle, O Israel ! here shall, we dwell to serve the Lord together."
A, PIONEER.
Address given to Rev. Father King on the Occasion of his Feast Day; Sept. 29th, 1868
(AFTER THE OPENING OF THE CONVENT)
The year is clad in leafy garb Of crimson bright and mellow gold, As if she mocked the angel death Whose stroke would lay her pale and cold. Now fades the mountain's velvet robe, 'Neath summer's warm and fervent kiss; The warble of the woodland bird, We sadly in the valley miss.
The autumn winds e'er sing to all A requiem beautiful and wild, A whisper of the world of rest Awaiting those who've nobly toiled. Though freighted is its perfumed breath With sadness, yet a welcome day Of sunshine does it usher, in, Through misty shadows gone astray.
Our hearts all filled with love and joy- In gladness we have gather'd here, To lift our voice in childish praise And love, to one, whom all revere.
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SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL
But words are empty things at best; But echo feelings of the heart And show unto a careless world, Of what we feel, the weaker part.
O Father, ne'er can we give thanks For holy work so well begun; For purest training and the best, Of the persuasive tireless nun. Within the sanctuary's pale; Within the chapel hushed and dim, Commingled e'er will be thy name In our sincere thanksgiving hymn.
Forgotten, never, in our prayer, Where'er our footsteps chance to roam Will be thy name, O Father, dear, Or our beloved Convent home. And yet 'tis not an abbey old That has escaped the tyrant's grasp,
And guiltless are its virgin walls, Of withered ivy's loving clasp;
Nor old and mouldering column high, Nor ruined, crumbling, moss-topped arch, In whispers low and mournful speak Of cruel Time's remorseless march. A simple tombstone and a cross O'ershadows now the flowering sod,
And tells us that one angel more Now pleads for us in the courts of God.
Through infancy we look upon
A vista of oncoming years,
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ADDRESS GIVEN TO REV. FATHER KING
And seek through dimness to descry The guerdon which their ending bears. For thine own self, a monument, More grand than hero's laureled tomb, Thou rearest crowning it with flowers More fair than valley's richest bloom.
But God, in justice can reward So holy and so high a deed; The harvest may'st thou live to see Of what thou sowest now in seed. To see this Convent stately rise Still guided by this Sister band; Its pupils, may'st thou live to see, The gifted, noblest in the land.
When thee, the angel death will free, From weary care and crushing strife, Oh! mayst thou greet thy children each, In that, the purer, better life.
S. M. I.
EVERY day is a syllable ; every month a word to make the sen- tence of a year .- K. K.
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Remembrance of fr. Gertrude of the sacred Heart
**
"Tis the feast of the angel of healing, In the glow of October's late hours, And the day has been vocal with wishes And wreathed with the fairest of flowers.
Like the songs and the smiles of the angel Of peace and of joy all the day, From the true hearts of kindred and friendship What sunshine, has flooded my way.
What greetings and prayers, soulful treasures, That are part of the life whence they flow, Tender tokens of selfless remembrance, Blooms too bright for this brief life below.
Blooms of kindness so sweet and so fragrant That they thrill me with grateful surprise, For they bear on their exquisite petals, The breath of God's love from the skies. -
'Tis the feast of the angel of healing, Of the angel of Peace and of Love, But I miss in the glow of the sunset The gleam of a snowy-winged dove.
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REMEMBRANCE OF SR. GERTRUDE OF THE SACRED HEART 39
A message that never yet failed me With its burden of wishes and prayers, But the sweet Angel-sister that sped it, Has passed from earth's pleasures and cares.
Still her mem'ry is bright as the crimson, That flushes the brow of the west, And pure as the pearly haze mantling, The Coast Range's glorified breast.
1 O faithful Friend ! Daughter ! and Sister ! In the glow of God's glory above, I feel, that your hands are uplifted, For the Homes that here shared your heart's love.
For the Mother and sisters, that treasure Your memory as Love's fairest flower, For the souls to whom Jesus and Mary, Are the glory and joy of each hour.
For the teachers and friends of your childhood, Whose prayers shall uprise with your song, When the Jubilee bells of your Convent, Shall ring out their glad anthems ere long.
We shall beg God whose graces and goodness, Their calm quarter century have blest, To crown with all joys His Heart's Spouses, In the city of Oaks, of the West.
S. A. R. - Notre Dame, San Jose, Cal.
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Our Every Day Blessings
How strange is the human heart ! so vast in its capacity for the grand and the beautiful, yet ofttimes so weak, so earthly in its longings and desires.
This little time-piece of our existence strikes off the hours one by one, and though they are fraught with numberless blessings, we let them glide on, in our restless eagerness to attain a happiness just beyond our grasp. Life is what we make it; and if we glance around us, how much cause for real joy do we not find in our every- day-blessings ! Who has not felt the influence of a bright sunny morning ; of the gentle breeze which having playfully stolen the fragrance from the flowers, has wafted it to us as though it knew its power of gratifying ?
Who, while viewing the grand panorama of nature, with its gor- geous tints and sombre shadows, has thought for one instant how much there is to be thankful for in the gift of sight ? And coming to the real living world of hearts that surround us, who can say, who can count all the blessings affection has bestowed ? The smile of approval, the smile which encourages, are not these treasures of the soul ? And little acts of kindness coming just at the moment we feel the need of sympathy and of love, do they count for naught ? Ah ! no ; though trifling in themselves, they may be the pivot upon which our life's destiny turned, just as the sweet impress of a mother's lips upon the youthful brow of Benjamin West made him form the resolve of putting upon canvas the noble conceptions of his artistic genius.
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MOST REV. P. W. RIORDAN ARCHBISHOP OF SAN FRANCISCO
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