The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1907-08-17
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All Quiet Along the Potomac.
All quiet along the Potomac" they say,
Except now and then stray picket
| Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and
fro,
By a rideman hid in the thicket";
lis nothing private or two now and
then
Will not count In the news of the
battle;
Not an officer lost-only one Of the men,
Moaning out. all alone, his death rattle.
All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully
dreaming;
Their tents in the rays Of the clear au-
I tumn moon,
Or the light Of the watch fires are
cleaning.
A tremulous sigh. as the gentle night
wind
Through the forest leaves softly u (
creeping:
While stars up above, with their glitter
Ing eyes,
Keep guard-for the army Is sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone san
try's tread,
Al he tramps from the rock to the
fountain,
And he thinks Of the two in the low
trundle bed
Far away In the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack-his face, dark
and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
A. he mutters q prayer for the children
asleep,
For their mother-may heaven defend
her!
The moon seems to shine just rs brightly
as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips-when low-mur-
INJURED vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his
eyes,
He dashes off tears that are yelling.
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine
The footstep is tagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes through the broad
belt Of light,
Toward the shades of the forest 50
dreary.
Hark was it the night wind that rustled
the leaves?
Was it moonlight 50 suddenly fashing1
It looked like rife "Ha; Mary.
good-by!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plash-
ing.
All quiet along the Potomac tonight;
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face Of
the dead
| The picket is off duty forever!
| Ethel Lynn Beers.
The Merry Heart Goes All the Way,
When you come to a wearisome bit OF the
road,
Where the stones are thick and the
path is steep,
And the back is bowed with the heft Of
the load,
As the narrowing way Is hard to keep
Don't stop just then for wasteful sigh.
But challenge the worst with steadfass
cheer;
If nowhere else, there is help on high
Gods angels will hasten, your pioneer.
When you reach the lonesome bit OF the
road,
Curtailed about with mist and murk,
And YOU hear faint sounds from the dread
above, q.
Where shivering, grim hobgoblins Turk.
Just laugh to scorn their doleful cries
This is the place to whistle and sing;
Brush the fog from your fearless eyes.
And close to the faith Of your fathers
cling.
whan Won stand at the sorrowful bit Of
the road,
And a hand you loved his loosed its
clasp;
When streams are dry that IN sweetness
flowed,
And flowers drop from your listlen
grasp;
Zen now take heart, for farther on
There are hope and joy and the dawn
of day; st.
You shall find again what you thought
was gone,
'Tis the merry heart goes all the way.
-Marearet E. Sangster. t.sststse
pF.ttress from Roosevelt.
John Baylor, formerly q plumber
who has been in Panama for soane
time. has good reason to remember
PRESIDENT Roosevelt When the Prest-
49, r,.,+od tho canal zone Baylor