USA > California > Alameda County > Oakland > Silver jubilee memorial Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal., 1868-1893 > Part 4
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NELLIE COUGHLIN.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
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" Dearest Lord, make us remember, when the world seems cold and dreary, and we know not where to turn for comfort, that there is always one spot bright and cheerful-the Sanctuary."
FR. AUGUSTINE
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Jesus dear, make us remember, When through life we weep and moan, We've one Treasure, ours forever, One dear Heart that's all our own.
When the world seems cold and dreary, When we see friends turn away, And the dear ones who were with us We no longer have to-day,
Make us think of Thee, oh Jesus, From thy glad bright home above, Ready to send strength and courage, Anxious to give love for love.
Grant us when the battle wages, Fiercer and more fierce through life Grant us Lord, sweet resignation, Teach us patience in the strife.
Patience, through the hard, hard struggle, Patience till the crown is won ; Teach us Lord our daily lesson, " Not my will, but Thine be done."
LAURA J. BRENHAM.
Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal.
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CONVENT OF OUR LADY OF THE SACRED HEART, OAKLAND, CAL. CHAPEL
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What Makes the Summer? 1
Is it the lark's sweet hymn That rings out full and clear, Growing sweeter still and sweeter, As to heaven he draweth near?
Is it the nightingale's lone thrill, That cleaves the cooling air, And tells of evening's darkened shades And God's protecting care?
Is it the gorgeous rose, With beauty rich and rare, Shedding forth its sweet perfume, From a heart divinely fair?
Is it the lily so pure, Of which our Blessed Jesus said, They toil not and they spin not, They claim no glowing red,
But theirs is so pure a beauty, Such loveliness portrayed, That e'en Solomon in his glory Was not like these arrayed.
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Is it the dark-eyed pansy, That greets us with saucy nod, Or the haughty sunflower following The chariot of her god?
Is it the magnolia waving Her snowy chalice on high That tells in fragrant whispers Of joyful summer nigh?
Yes, all these things tell us That the summer now is here. But other things there are that render That summer doubly dear,
Hearken ! from over the meadow, Comes the murmuring hum of the bee, As he busily gathers his honey From the clover-scented lea.
And list to the drone of the beetle And the crickets' chirp sing-song, And the weird tale that Katy-did tells In a voice so clear and strong,
And see the lowly grasses That cover hill and dale,
Wrapping the bare brown meadows In a beauteous emerald veil.
And see the soft green leaflets, That cover our stately trees, Think you, is there no beauty In humble things like these?
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WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER?
They tend to make the season So fraught with joyous hours, The cricket's song and the lowly grass, As well as birds and flowers.
Let us then learn the lesson Which these humble things have given, That e'en little things are counted, In the registers of Heaven.
One little deed of kindness May withdraw a poisoned dart; One word of tender sympathy May bind a broken heart.
Then let us cherish these trifles That we meet in daily life, And strive to smooth the pathway Of our brothers in the strife.
For we are heirs to one great kingdom, Heirs of the self-same God. Oh! let us follow the lowly path, The path that Jesus trod.
MAMIE MCGANNEY.
Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal.
An Allegory
It was a bleak day in November. The chilling winds of Autumn sighed about the bare and leafless trees, and swept over the withered fields. Here and there a few yellow leaves might have been found adhering to the swaying branches, but the ruthless blast tore them from their shelter and whirled them out upon the frosty air.
In the desolate fields a rose-bush cowered in fear and trembling before the wind-once so beautiful, now bare and dismantled.
" Ah !" it sighed, " why did they take me from my home under the sunny skies where the birds carolled forth their melodies among my leaves, where the butterflies flitted to and fro around me, where cold and mist were things unknown ! Why did they place me here in this dreary desert to lose my beauty, and be destroyed by the cruel blasts of a frigid land !"
And the winds moaned sadly about and tore the few remaining leaves from the defenceless tree.
The snows of winter came, and the rose-bush shrank from the mocking flakes, that seemed to dance in glee about its withered limbs. The fierce winds roared and shrieked about it, and snapped its few remaining branches off and flung them to the earth ; and the rose-bush slowly drooped beneath the many miseries which it bore.
God saw and pitied its feebleness ; one day, when its life was almost gone, a ray of sunshine, like a heaven-sent messenger, touched it and melted the pitiless snows ; the merciless winds died down ; the gentle zephyrs blew softly o'er the branches ; the warm rains fell upon it ; one by one, the leaves again peeped out, and the birds came fluttering to the welcome shade.
The rose-bush, all its beauty restored, grew and blossomed in the sunshine of God's love.
NELLIE COUGHLIN.
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WERE WE BORN TO BE HAPPY ?
It is an undeniable fact that in human nature there is a deep- rooted and insatiable longing for happiness, and it is quite as unde- niable that this craving would never have been placed in the human heart to be left forever unsatisfied.
Well nigh six thousand years have passed over the world since the day that witnessed its creation ; never once in all that lapse of time has man lived and striven for other ends than happiness. Naught else could satisfy his craving, naught fill the aching void within his bosom. He felt that God had made him for a life of bliss ; he realized that sin had frustrated the design ; and yet, even the dread sentence of suffering and toil that drove him from his Eden home could not repress the longing of his heart, nor daunt his · efforts to attain the end. Surely it must have been a seed of God's sowing that could withstand that blighting sentence and sprout to life in an outcast's barren heart. Thus within each man's soul is a source of happiness. With this store of sunshine within us, and so much that is good and beautiful around us to elicit its cheering rays, can we doubt that we were destined to live in its presence ?
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Is TRUE HAPPINESS LOST TO EARTH?
Man was born free ; he might or might not accept the law of his Creator ; Eden was the place of his probation-beautiful as God chose to make it for the monarch who came to preside there. This
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same monarch willed to deface the beauty thereof by a rebellious act ; then should we be surprised if the darkness of Dante's "Inferno" enshrouded it in a gloom irremediable? But God is a father, and a forgiving one like all fathers ; He could leave his disobedient child to work out his years of probation under a cloud as dark as that which hung over the cross, when in despairing accents the Crucified called out to His Father, " My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" But His heart is so tender that when His justice urges Him to repel, His mercy forces Him to take the same lawless creature to His heart of hearts. Consequently, He would not banish all happiness from this life ; He has left glimpses of it in everything that surrounds us. It shines out in nature, in religion, in the domestic and social relations, upholding us and shortening the hours of our exile.
Around the hearthstone man may mingle with the loved ones of home ; there also, the sweet companionship of friends has power to lull his spirit to repose ; even when no one is near to share with him an hour of pleasure, his mind can revel in a bliss his very own, and in the exercise of his intellect comes another solace for his loneliness.
But there is still another and a greater happiness awaiting him, to which all else is naught. 'Tis the restful happiness of a soul at peace, of a duty well performed. When in his heart this conscious- ness is present, all the burden of earth's anguish disappears, for, in his inmost soul reigns a happiness supreme. All these pleasures brighten his darkest moments and encourage him to persevere until the day when he will be greeted with the words : "Well done, thou good and faithful servant."
* WHAT IS TRUE HAPPINESS ?
As we stand at the portal of life's realities, we needs must pause one moment on the threshold of the future and choose among its offerings that which will make our life most happy. Some of those
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who have gone before us have chosen wealth, some, fame, some, pleas- ure and gay hours of careless mirth ; who can say that their expecta- tions have been fulfilled ? The history of the world proves the opposite.
Our soul was never made for earth; it can not rest in this stifling atmosphere : earth's gifts and pleasures are but means that aid to its eternal end. Whatever raises up the soul to heaven, whatever makes it more beloved by God, will be means of happiness here below, for God is ever willing to bless His faithful ones and give them a foretaste of the joy that is waiting for them beyond. We must ever do the Master's will if we wish to live in the sunshine of happiness ; only the dark shadows of sin and wasted hours can make all around us black and foreboding and change the face of beauty into one of misery and despair.
Yet how soon our cherished plans are thwarted, how soon our hopes are crushed by misfortune or death ! Not so, when we are striving for a heavenly end. Misfortune cannot dim our happiness ; each new trial, in raising us nearer heaven brings us also nearer to its joys ; every sorrow, howsoever bitter, has its balm ; every cross, howsoever heavy, has its crown of light. Death, too, is but the portal of glory, and not the end of all earth's pleasure. We need not fear its chill embrace, for soon our Father's loving smile will welcome us home forever, and we will know in its perfection the happiness of which we have had but a foretaste here upon earth.
DOES TRUE HAPPINESS EXIST ?
Let me answer this by another question : Can an exile ever be truly happy while he remains far from his native land ? Does the little songster of the forest trill his merry notes when imprisoned in a cage ? Man's life on earth is an exile's lot ; he is the wayworn stranger in a foreign land. Even the wayside inn which he calls a home, gives shelter only for the night of life ; when morning dawns
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he must hasten onward to the great end of his journey. The loved companions of his wanderings ofttimes leave his side and, hurrying onward into the rest from toil, reach the golden portals of home long before him.
We are ever longing for our native land ; and, when a ray of happiness falls across our path, it is but a reminder of the home towards which we are journeying, for no earthly joy can satisfy the cravings of our hearts.
The very nature of earthly happiness is a deathblow to the pos- sibility of its completeness, for, unless moderated it tends rather to "oppress. Again, what man is there who, in his happiest hours, has not felt an indescribable dread of the loss thereof, a presentiment that even while he drinks, the cup will be dashed from his eager lips ? Yes, on every page of life's history is written with tears of sorrow the sad tale of disappointed happiness. On the very first page, we find the dead leaves of Eden's fairest flowers.
Life is one continual awakening from momentary bliss to real sorrow; many a face wears a happy look while deep down in the heart is a grave, where lies some cherished hope, or some bright dream long since laid away. All our joys walk in sorrow's shadow ; tears and laughter follow close upon each other. " O man, thou. pendulum 'twixt a smile and a tear !"
But as though to urge us on and to encourage us on the long weary path, it seems for a moment as though the Eternal Gates stood ajar and we catch a glimmer of the glory that falls to us from that radiant Home. We then experience a peace and happiness that our weak human nature must call perfect ; although its gold is mingled, alas ! with the dross of earth. Encouraged by the beauteous vision, we go on, braver and better for the foretaste of the blessings beyond. Earthly felicity is to unalloyed happiness, what the blossom is to the fruit-only a promise, for man's inheritance on earth is sorrow. Having this, he will not cease to strive and long for that true Home where Mercy's hand shall brush away every tear, and happiness unclouded will be his forever.
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WHY Is THERE SO LITTLE HAPPINESS ?
The beautiful vision called happiness assumes many a forni and semblance, according to the ideal that is formed by those who seek it. Sometimes it is a picture of earthly triumph and world-wide fame that lures man on to deeds of grandeur and bravery ; some- times the phantom is of beauteous mien ; richest robes bedecked with jewels, clothe the graceful form, the dainty hand beckons the deluded victim, and untrammeled pleasure claims another follower.
But is not this a happy lot to follow, to overtake such dreams of loveliness ? Yes, it would be bliss indeed, if attainment could sat- isfy all expectation. But it is not so. No sooner does the admiration of a world rise up before the conqueror, than the sickening void within his bosom seems to echo the myriad voices that proclaim how vain and empty is the glory that once shone so resplendent.
The very consciousness that the long-sought joy is in his grasp makes the beauty that once enticed the youthful mind, a source of anguish to the fortunate possessor ; he now realizes that it was only distance that made the scene enchanting. The lovely phantom of wealth, fame, and pleasure never is overtaken, for when we reach the spot where, but an instant before, she stood, we find that she has fled.
Thus all life long the chase is followed in vain, because we search for happiness where it is not, like one who in the dark goes round and round his destination, never dreaming it lies so near, thinking to find happiness in riches, or in worldly honors, while it lies quietly by his side in his daily avocations. Nor will he search in sorrow's cup for the magic gift, but fly with frightened heart from every shadow of suffering, forgetting that Gethsemane and Calvary lay on the road to Olivet, and that God is often pleased to place the most ennobling happiness at the bottom of a deep draught of sorrow.
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Ah ! if we could view life's winding vale from death's dark mount, there we would see where each deceptive pathway leads, and choose that which takes us straight to God.
WHICH ARE OUR HAPPIEST DAYS ?
In every life record we find days blotted and blurred with tears ; but not according to these must we judge of the individual's life, but rather according to those catalogued as red-letter days. A red-letter day, or one of special and striking happiness, is not merely a day of gay festivities or a succession of pleasurable emo- tions. Such a day may be nothing more than a kind of torpor, all desires and restless craving for something higher and more lasting having been lulled to rest by intoxicating excitement and sheer animal enjoyment, thus producing a temporary counterfeit of bliss.
Which then are our happiest days ? Are they the "days of triumph and of mirth" ? The days when scenes of earth's fair beauty crowd around? The days when admiration wafts sweet incense to the hero of the hour ? No, far from it. They are days of stillness and repose, when, unnoticed by the surging throng, some deed of worth in God's pure sight is wrought in secret and alone. They are days when self is all forgotten ; days when a fellow-creature claims our best endeavor ; days in which we experience after a duty well done, that sweet calm which is the friend of a pure conscience, and which surpasses all that the world can offer.
Adulations add not to this joy supreme, for when most neglected, most despised, the heart may be happiest. A writer has beautifully said, "In vain do they talk of happiness, who never subdued an impulse in obedience to a principle. He who never sacrifices a present to a future good, or a personal to a general cause, can speak of happiness only as the blind do of colors."
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The pathway of faithfulness is rugged, and every step calls forth a pang to compensate for every joy. But, oh ! who can compare the sacrifice with the achievement, the anguish with the bliss ?
THE BANE OF TRUE HAPPINESS
Cast a glance around you and see where happiness dwells not. In her place you will see selfishness sitting enthroned in the human heart and keeping happiness far off, while its victim wanders on, longing and searching for the magic gift. Men would enjoy happiness alone, and their jealous hearts forbid others to enjoy it with them. They do not see that she is, not a creature of solitude, that she cannot abide in narrow hearts, but delights to dwell in the large and generous soul ; with strange inconsistency, she comes to us in all her charms, only when we are striving to hire her to visit a fellow-man.
The man who selfishly hoards his joys, and thinks to increase them, is like one who, looking at his own full granary, which he boasts of keeping from the soil and mill, marvels at his neighbors' wastefulness when they sow in the Spring. The golden Autumn comes, and while he has only his few bushels preserved, their fields are yellow with an abundant harvest.
Our peace and joy must flow out to others like " gifts and attainments which are not only destined to be light and warmth in our own dwellings, but are as well to shine through the window in the dark night, to guide and cheer bewildered travelers upon the road."
"Live not to thyself alone," but give of the little God has given thee ; then in the effort made to throw sunshine into the life of a brother, our own hearts will catch the light that is reflected, and we will be happy in the consciousness of making others happy.
Tennyson has said : "Dark is the world to thee; thyself art the reason why."
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As we are each weaving our web of life, we can put bright colors on Time's loom, or we can weave our web all one dull dark gray. The task lies before us; the power and the means we have. Will each coming moment beam with happiness ? It rests with us and is contained in one short word-unselfishness. If men were but unselfish, if the rich would look beyond the narrow horizon of their own bright clime to the wintry realm of the poor ; if each would give a helping hand to some weak brother, this earth would soon become all peace, all bliss, and naught but "good will" reign among the sons of men.
* WHAT SHALL I DO TO BE HAPPY ?
We sit in the darkness and gloom of selfishness and ask this piteous question with clouded face that portrays the want of true happiness within our souls.
Our Divine Master Himself was our teacher when He said, " Be thou faithful until death, and I will give thee the crown of eternal life." Faithfulness in accomplishing our duty will win for us eternal happiness ; and although God promises a full reward only after this life, yet every one has felt that even here the reward of sweet peace and content follows a duty well performed. Duty is not a meager accomplishment of our daily avocations, not the hard unsympathetic meting out of justice ; but it is our every action done with love.
Life for the most part is made up of little things : each thought, each act, lends its aid to make up the sum of a life-time. Few are called to glorious deeds, but all to do their best, however small it may be. An active life, full of kindness is always the- happiest. One word of encouragement that cheers a fainting brother ; one word of brightness that brings a smile to some care-worn counte- nance ; one word of Heaven that raises up some soul from earth ; even a tender thought of pity that may not venture beyond the precincts of the heart-all these have power to make our lives most
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ST. MARY'S SCHOOL, OAKLAND
ST. FRANCIS DE SALES SCHOOL, OAKLAND
ST. LAWRENCE SCHOOL, TEMESCAL GLIMPSE OF OUR LADY'S NOOK
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happy. And if these little things can bring happiness, how much more will it follow a prayer well said, a duty bravely done, a triumph over self-the hardest of life's battles !
With the impress of time we should grow more thoughtful, more generous, more self-sacrificing, and consequently more ready to bestow kindness upon our fellow-creatures. For we have learned by experience how often we stand in need of hearing what we know full well; our own balsam must be poured into our hearts by another's hand.
Let us ever bear in mind that " Happiness is a perfume, and we cannot pour it upon others without getting a few drops ourselves."
NO VIRTUE, NO HAPPINESS
Earth with all its pleasures and its beauties, was born to die ; man's doom was uttered in Eden. "Dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return." Man's soul alone can escape annihilation, for it was made for Heaven and immortality. It is now a prisoner chained to its cell by the very life that we endeavor to enjoy. If to earth we cling, with it we shall pass away. The tiny insect that loves to dwell in the frail cup of the wayside flow'ret will, when the dainty blossom fades, be trampled with it in the dust of the roadside.
All happiness is false that has not virtue as a foundation. Virtue alone can give that peace, that rest, and that bliss for which man has been created. Alas ! he has not always been consistent : he has wandered into by-paths ; he has sought after happiness in " the accumulation of wordly goods, in the gratification of the sensual appetite. But he has sought in vain, until the soul, which is a breath of life from God's bosom, great, noble and expansive, has . become little, narrow, and craving, after the " husks of swine in a far-off country," removed from God's grace and blessing, and con- sequently from true happiness.
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How impossible for happiness and vice to dwell together ! As well might the dove and the tiger lie down together in sweet com- panionship. Happiness is heaven-born, vice sprang into being when the bright sun of Lucifer had set forever. How can all the beauties, all the pleasures of the world delight the man whose soul is hard- ened with sin ? He may gaze on the loveliness around, he may listen to the joyous strains of music, he may dwell in the midst of comfort and luxury ; yet ever within his bosom a voice will reproach. In every beauty there will lurk a mocking demon ; in every strain of music there will be an undertone of despair ; in all the pleasures of wealth, will lie in waiting some frightful vision to dash away his dreams of happiness.
Virtue is the handmaid of Happiness ; she goes before to pre- pare hearts for her reception. When all is ready, Happiness enters with that " peace which the world cannot give," and the heart rests secure in that joy " which no man shall take from it."
EARTHLY HAPPINESS, A REFLECTION OF HEAVEN
" We see now through a glass darkly ; but then, face to face." While all our life's best efforts are made for the sole great boon of happiness, the inmost soul ever breathes the same refrain, "Earth cannot know happiness." God has given these fleeting gleams of brightness to light our homeward path, and not to give us full enjoy- ment while still we linger in our dreary exile. He has placed around us loved ones, not that our hearts should look no further, but that in their virtues we should find reminders of the Infinite Loveliness beyond. How much better we will know and love them when we greet them in the Home above ! Then the untrammeled soul will reveal all those beauties we could not know fully before.
Life is a mighty work-room where the kind Master has hung, here and there, mirrors that give to the laborer's upturned eyes, passing reflections of the azure heavens. These pictures of beauty
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are unseen by those whose gaze is ever riveted below, and only those who look above in their hours of lowly labor can view the loveliness therein depicted. Then, too, their designs will be most beauteous, for they will work in scenes of purest beauty. And yet, look at the bent form of the laborers. How few raise their eyes above ! How many are seeking models from the dusty floor ! How many are regardless of the Master's kind endeavor for their success! Surely they can never hope to achieve their end ; for while they are wasting the precious moments in vain search for what they cannot find, the twilight is closing upon them and the Master comes to view the results of the day's labor. Confusion and shame are now their portion, and the shadows of night bring for them no peaceful home of joyful rest, but darkness and despair.
Oh ! let us ever raise our eyes to Heaven amid the toils of life. Then when twilight brings the close of day, all the labor of our life's hours will surely be blessed of God.
Class of '90
Lucile Mesmer
Edith Auld Blanche Belden Mamie Nouris
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