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Twenty-Four
"Where are they
going?" asks Pittsford High
Naming those ready to do and die.
Peerless beyond all to lead the herd,
Till time shall call them with a silent word.
Time will tell who did his part,
Who did his work with a willing heart,
And who reaps a harvest of peace and joy,
For doing his bit while still a boy.
So when you ask "where is the
place?"
"24" will be there with a smiling
face,
To greet you who follow in our wake
And out of you a partner make.
And so on through the sporting sphere,
We'll do our best as we did while here,
We'll ever continue more and more
As the Loyal ones of "24".
You cannot forget that willful set
That climbed day by day and are climbing yet.
If we have to climb the same step o'er
We will keep on climbing as "24"
It matters not what are our names,
Or what our race or what our claims.
It is the things we say and do
When days of trial come into view.
And if you ask, perhaps for fun,
I'll tell you we number just twenty one,
Our name shall ring o'er and o'er
As the willing ones of "24".
Tis far better to have played and lost,
To have played a fair game whatever the cost.
Than not to have played and boast that you
won,
To receive all the glory that belongs to none.
The records you find of our work while here
Will be all to tell why we are near.
And when you look back on Pittsford's score,
You'll note the white lustre of
"24".
Walter
Gifford
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School Days
When the golden days of
Autumn come,
And the air is warm and dry,
Across the hills and valleys
Sounds the bell of Pittsford High.
It seems to say, if you stop to think,
"Come along with me, Come along,
Bring your books and your luncheon pail,
And join our happy throng"
We are all young and strong and free,
Helping each other along the way
That we have to go, e're we can say,
"We have made the most of every
day."
Be not dismayed that the hours be long;
And your lessons are in the way,
For, if in the end you gain success,
You'll think of those high school days.
Rose
Larrabee '25
Geometrical Love Story
Poly-Hedral was a cute
maid, but rather plane. Her hair was a beautiful red. She wore it
in braids tied at the ends with chords. She had circular green eyes,
her complexion was fair with freckles at all points.
Cy-linder was an angular man. On Poly
he called at regular days with compliments.
One day they went to Tangent Lake to
fish. With poles, lines and angleworms they climbed into an arc.
When they were out in the middle of the
lake and no one within a radius of two miles, Poly ran the hook into the
surface of her finger while bisecting an angle worm. Cy rushed to her
side and encircled her in his huge angular arms, then--with love in the tub,
the bottom full out.
Gold
Dust Twins '26
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Our High School
Our High School is a grand
old place,
It's a place where you want to be.
Here we meet our troubles face to face,
And make our minds more free.
The very best days of our career,
The days that yielded us most,
Are those that we spent with our teachers
dear,
Oh how we'll miss that host.
We once did think that day by day
From Pittsford High we'd go.
And would not reap in any way
The things that we might sow.
But when we look back to those good old
days,
From those that are far in the lead,
We'll find that our harvest more to us pays
Than what we put in for seed.
Walter
Gifford
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White and Blue
Gladly we will bear our
banner,
Through defeat and victory too;
We'll uphold our High School's honor,
And our dear old White and Blue.
Every day through storm and sunshine,
School ideals must hold true;
So we work within the school room,
Ever trusting White and Blue.
In athletics, friendly contests
Though our victories are few,
Still we work for dear Old Pittsford,
And still wave the White and Blue.
Four long years we spent together,
Useful happy years all through.
Let us leave some true memorial
To uphold the White and Blue.
When our High School days are over,
And we're called our bit to do,
We'll remember faithful Schoolmates,
And our dear old White and Blue.
Elsie
Johnson, '25
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