MARY, MOTHER OF WASHINGTON by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR

CHILDREN of fair Saint Botolph's town,
Boston, set by the northern sea,
Listen! Where warmer skies look down
On Fredericksburg with its sad renown,
And Rappahannock broad and brown, —
In a lonely grave by the grassy lea
Has slept, while a hundred years have run,
Mary, Mother of Washington.

Sacred her slumber! dust so dear —
So close to the nation's heart the shrine —
When battle raged in that awful year,
And shot and shell flew far and near,
'Fire away from the sleeper here!'
Rang all along the serried line;
And for her was peace, disturbed by none —
Mary, Mother of Washington.

Alas, alas! that hallowed place,
Long marked alone by a cedar tree,
Shows now but crumbling stones whose face
Bears not even the faintest trace
Of the name of her God granted grace
To give us him who made us free!
Yet deathless she with her deathless son —
Mary, Mother of Washington.

And shall we leave the dew and the rain
To deck the spot where her ashes lie,
With the creeping grass and the flowery train
That to wreathe the mound with bloom are fain,
While the west wind sings a mournful strain,
And the birds, lamenting, warble nigh?
Nay! for her honor our hearts are one! —
Let us crown her grave, the river by,
With a column to stand eternally
And say to earth, and to star and sun:
Mary, Mother of Washington!

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