The Weber Literary Journal No. He would not go in now. He would go out into the world again to redeem himself. He would get work and make a name for himself. Then he could look the world squarely in the face and say, "I dare you to question me." He would come back and make himself known. Once more he went to the window, bade his mother a silent goodnight and hurried down the road. At the next house he stopped and crept to the window. Inside a tall fellow was playing with a laughing babe. The man outside did not tarry long. The new life which had awakened him was surging within him. From an inner pocket he drew the chord which had once encircled his khaki hat. Carefully he hung it on the door knob. That would be enough, he thought, for Jack would remember. And so the man went into the world once more out into the world where he had aimlessly drifted with the earth's wave of vagabonds for three long years. But this time he went with a higher resolve to find the man who had lost himself three years before. My Dream By Kenneth Farley Last night I dreamt of wondrous sights full fair, Of mountains high where pine trees sway and sigh A garden rare; there was each passing care A fallen leaf, waft gently to the sky. A nightingale sang out her song of spring A rippling brook wild flowers strewn did fall. The stars looked on each like a happy king And Moonlight hung his cloak of peace o'er all. And there upon the mountain's snowy peak A maiden sat most wondrous to behold; Symbol of peace so pure did angels seek That they from her their lowly spirits mold; And around her men their brothers did embrace, And humbly bless them, in the name of Grace. 26 The Weber Literary Journal Home Walter Emmett There alwyas is a mother by the family's vacant chair, And the wayward son or brother always finds her waiting there; There are gems of true affection that the son has left behind Thus the old home's sweet reflections form the household ties that bind. There are tears of true devotion that the humble parents shed; 'Tis that sympathy in motion, which restores the sheep misled. Man has seen Life's bounding billow from his little sailing-smack; 'Tis the homestead's couch or pillow that directs the boatman back. Life's long pathway has its roses, but the sweet rose has its thorn; 'Tis the nettle Time exposes, says that "Man was made to mourn." Earth is richer for the pleasure that succeeds the gloomy rain. Ev'ry token has its treasure as a healing balm to pain. Home is placed here as a station where the traveler may rest Where he spends a swet vacation with the old birds in the nest; Ev'ry arm shakes hands with Sorrow where the truant's bare feet roam, But there lives a bright Tomorrow, back in ev'ry home, sweet home. 27