The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1895-07-08
THE SOLDIERS WIDOW.
A Prose Poem Read at La Conner on
Memorial Morning.

Memorial Morning.
It's Memorial morning. The deep. dark
ocean losses its spray upon the shore with
a resonant hush! hush! A woman slowly
paced the white sand. In the distance she
can hear the measured tread of marching
feet and the mellowed sound of music.
The holy peace of the Sababth is over all.
An aged woman, a soldiers widow-a
martyr to her country, this. The pale
face, made beautiful by the hand of sor-
row-that terrible sculptor. whose chisel
leaves on human faces the deep prints
that time never effaces-bends low above
a cluster OF snowy lilies; beautiful flow
ers. suggestive of risen Savior. but not
more beautiful than the silvery white
head bowed above them.
A stalwart hero. truly. Ye who love
tales of heroism, and we who have brought
to the affairs Of our country your richest
treasures, listen TO the sacrifice she made.
She tore from her life all that gave it
right to be called life, placed her frail
foot upon her passionate woman heart and
mother love and held 1t there, a struggling
and tormented thing. When her country
called she gave her all: she gave the love
of her girlhood, the tender guardian of her
womanhood, and her only son, all to her
country, and remained alone in terrible
suspense A sailors wife. a sailors moth
er. She stood dry-eyed and watched them
sail away.
A sailors widow. A childless woman.
She waited in vain. for they never return
ed. Buried at sea- she read, and she
lived on, empty-hearted. Only the empty
husks of life remained. The golden kerr
nels of happiness We're gone forever. The
dead slumbered on, but night and day
through the long. weary. lonely years. she
had grieved alone. No need had she to
keep Memorial Sabbath. The long years
as they piled up so high. were one long
memorial day to her. No grave had she
to deck with flowers. Her noble dead
slept In the hollow of the deep.
Slowly the woman moves along the
shore, thinking, always thinking, and
clutching the aching spot IN her breast
as IL TO stifie memory. Suddenly she
turns and faces the sea. One by one she
throws the lilies ont upon the water.
that rudely brushes their waxy wnite-
ness on the grating shore. Take Them"
she cries. ''Bruise and destroy them.
Make them fit emblems of my ruined
life. Oh, pitiless water" But the waves
sobbed upon the beach their monotonous
Hush. Hush,
Aye, hush. Has she not hushed? What
silent vigils has she kept! What brave
battles has she not fought before all tu-
man<ope lay dead? She has decorated her
soldiers grave. Only one grave. but
oU. SO Niut dUl SO Qttp-
empty. the lilies are tossing upon the
water.
She turns. but why does the sand waver
so? The brightness of the water has
dmmed her eyes.
She will rest a moment Lower and
lower she sinks. until her hair presses
the sand. But she is-far away. A NAL
den dreaming sweet dreams of the fu-
ture. The dream grows broader and
comes nearer. She is bending with yearn-
ing tenderness above her infant son. How
CAREFULLY she watches him through
youth. wrapping him about with
mothers love. How proud Is she of his
pure young manhood. The flying foam
with It's maddening memories Is scorching
her brain. and just az her dream leads
up 10 war with its terrible sacrifice dark
ness and death mercifully close the scene.
At sunrise they found her on the sand;
the morning light shed a halo about the
silver hair and marble face. She had
gone TO the Celestial City to meet her
loved ones. her brave soldier dead. Rest.
noble spirit, thy work IS finished We
hold thy memory dear. for thou hast
taught us that those who stayed at home
and wore the black are no less worthy
OF honor than the brave boys who wore
the blue AGNES VERSION.