Bridgewater State University - Alpha Yearbook (Bridgewater, MA)

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NORMAL OFFERING 25 The old timepiece still performs its duty faithfully, but it cannot be heard in the violent outburst of misery and horror. Again the walls of the room repeat the exclamations and pleadings. My boy, my own, my all! What is life? Mere empty, vacant nothing! War, brutal War, savage War !-Take me, kill me, and lay a cross on my breast. War, you are my god! You took my boy 3-take me ! The cries change to a semblance of insanity, and again the weary head droops, and all is still le-Xcept the faithful old clock on the mantlepiece. Instantaneously, the soft mellow rays of the lamp are trans- formed into a star of flashing brilliance, and the center of the room is veiled in a faint, grey cloud of mist. A deep, quiet voice from within the veil utters the words, HMother, be still. The veil soon vanishes and in the center of the carpeted floor stands a youth,-a man,-a soldier. His eyes beam and sparkle with heavenly joy and love, and his erect, stalwart figure, clothed in a uni- form of khaki, seems to tingle with life and vigor, -hypnotizing and magnetic. His features are radiant with happiness and good will, and his black, glossy hair shines in a halo of brilliance. He silently crosses the room and places his strong and sturdy hand upon the bent and silvery head. Mother, my Mother, I am here. I have come to you. Can't you hear me? Look at me, Mother ! The almost muffled tone expresses sympathy and suspense, akin to pain. Mother, be not afraid. I am with God, my God, your God, God of all mankind, the Creator of all. I have given my earthly life to Him, for my country's sake, for the sake of humanity, for the sake of the future generation, for your sake g and yet you grieve and moan, and bury yourself in misery, sorrow, and dismal melancholy. Mother, dear, lift your eyes heavenward and be thankful, pour forth from your soul and 'lips words of praise and devotion. Rejoice! be proud of your son. f Although my bones lie with others in the realm of the dead, I am living, I am at peace with my Maker. Listen to me, Mother dear. The bent form in the rocking chair lifts itself and staggers. The silvery head shines in glorious splendor, the dark eyes glitter with an unknown, almost supernatural light, the wan cheeks flush a deep rose, and the lips are transformed with an unearthly smile. The feeble hands reach out and cling to something,-and slowly,

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24 NORMAL OFFERING Mer Glrnzz IGHT has unfolded her cloak, and the earth is wrapped in ' darkness. Not one of the millions of tiny twinkling lamps is burning in the heavens, not even the most wonderful and brilliant of all lamps,--the moon. The little house at the top of the hill is enshrouded in a heavy and obscure veil of blackness,--suggesting gloom and death. The wild north wind howls and shrieks around the corners of the little house, and whistles through the tall, stately pine trees. The ocean below roars in mad fury, beating and lashing against the jagged rocks on the shore, as if to battle against them. The little house is still and within, the room is still, save for the slow and steady rhythm of the ancient clock on the mantlepiece. Suddenly the deep silence is broken by a faint and mysterious rustle, the moving of a chair and the passage of footsteps lightly over the carpeted floor. A slight scratching on the wall, and behold, a light is struck! It flickers and soon the room is bathed in mellow rays of light, glimmering their hitherto forbidden way into the utmost corners of the little room. It is dazzling, almost blinding, at first, but its rays soon reveal the bent, silvery head of a little old lady in a rocking chair, with a burnt match in her fingers. The match drops to the floor beneath her, and she lifts her face, pale and wrinkled with care and sorrow, to the light. Her once bright and sparkling eyes are now faded orbs of dullness, and traces of wet tears linger on her cheeks and eye- lashes 3 her expression is sad and pathetic, almost heart-rending. Within a clenched fist a bit of heavy, striped green and red silk ribbon gleams in the light, and dangling below the ribbon is a bronze cross-a croiX de guerref' She wrings it within her hands in nervous frenzy, touches the metal to her lips, and, flinging it to the most deso- late corner of the room in mad hysteria, bursts into choking sobs and moans. The cross lies on the floor, only a fragment of cursed metal, of even less consequence than dust.

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26 NORMAL OFFERING steadily, and inonotonously, the old clock on the mantlepiec-e' chimes out the stroke of each hour, until it gains the eleventh,-and then stops. A mystic and thrilling treble voice utters the words, Yes, my son, I hear youg I see' you. Hold me, for I am coming to meet Him face to face. PIG Pk Pk Pk Pk 34 Pk Pk 214 214 Pk wk Morning has lifted her portals and the world is bathed in a flood of rose and purple light. The great sun in his fiery chariot has just begun his daily journey across the heavens. The deep blue ocean is calm, and the magnificent pine trees by the little house at the top of the hill are gently swaying in the slight breeze. Birds flutter to and fro, chirping and singing joyously. I The gaily-colored flowers in the garden, refreshed by the storm of last night, are nodding their heads coquettishly, and throwing laughing kisses at the sun, their wise and ancient monarch, seated in his lofty carriage of state. The little house is still and the room is still, save for the con- stantincreasing rhythm of the old clock on the mantlepiece. The lamp is on the table-extinguished. The rocking chair by the window holds the form of a woman with snow-white hair. The head is bent and the eyes are closed, but a glorious smile is revealed on her lips. One lifeless hand clutches a cross, only a fragment of metal' but the sacred symbol of liberty, honor, glory, peace,-and of God. Fannie Tinkham A wee little dog put on boxing gloves And said, Will anyone spar with me? A Maltese cat from a safe place said, To spar with you I'll agree. Come down on thegroundf' said the dog. Said the cat, You come up in the tree! Edward Parker QGrade V1.5