MOTHER’S
GRAVE.
By G.W.S.Ware.
- - - - - - -
(Written at my Mother’s grave in cemetery of Shiloh Baptist Church, Walker County,
Georgia, May, 15, 1919.) (Revised, May, 2, 1938, Winder, Ga.)
My Mother dear, I am sitting at the foot of the grave of your body. I am so glad I can
come to see the place where the dust of your body is quietly waiting the Lord’s own
time to make it live again to clothe your Spirit. Your fingers of dust now, fondle me up
into life, till I could take care of myself; yea you mothered me into existence, going
down into the valley of death to bring me up into life, by the will of God, for which I
honor Him hightest, and you next. Of all women, I am so glad God selected you to be my
mother, in whose name I am here to day. As I am leaning back in a borrowed chair, against
this large poplar tree, which was a sapling when I leaned against it
weeping, as you were covered out of my sight, fifty years ago. Then, no song was sung, no
Scripture read, no prayer offered; next Sunday a song for you will be sung, I will a
Scripture, and preach a sermon for you. You have waited a long time, but my Mother I am
here at last, a white-headed preacher for God and you. I have come out of Florida, through
Georgia, to hold your burial service, to be near where we parted on earth.
Mother, Mother, I am so glad I am at the foot of your grave leaning up against this
poplar tree, covered with green leaves, dotted with beautiful flowers like a tree of life,
here in this city of the dead. Before I came I thought: Will I find your grave out in the
hot sunshine, or in a friendly shade? and behold I find this tree, like a guardian angel
extending its wings out over you these fifty years; and seems so charmed with its
commission, it reaches further out, as the years come and go. It is marvelous mother, you
were buried where you are. True, at that time the poplar sapling was insignificant, no one
thought what it would be. Now, it is the most beautiful tree I ever saw; worth miles of
travel to see in the month of May. Mother, your body dust is in the most favored site in
this cemetery. The change in the high-way since your day, helps make it so. I find you not
only in the shade of this tree, but also in the bend of the road, as it sweeps through and
around this city of the dead. And furthermore, I find your are not forgotten, for some
friendly hand has just cut the sassafras bushes from off your grave, while other graves
are left unkept. I do not know who did it (I learned afterwards it was Frank McWilliams,
whom I knew in 1869), but I am thankful for us, and may his kind act give him joy.
Mother, I am to preach you a sermon here at Shiloh Church, next Sunday. I did my best
as I made it in Florida, to preach it for you in Georgia, on the truths of motherhood, as
God has revealed them. I did my best to be ready to please God and you. I sent word up
from Florida, That I would be here next Sunday to preach your sermon; and here I am before
the time, for us to be near where we were separated, in the long ago. I do not know
whether you will be there or not, but I am inclined to think you will, for God has
promised, and where He is, His people are.
Mother, If I do any good in meeting people here, and preaching a sermon for you, you
deserve the honor, for if your body had not been buried here, my presence would be
elsewhere, and I could not have made the sermon, for it required your life, and fifty
years after your death, to make this sermon for you. Mother, It seems too good to be true,
that I am sitting at the foot of your grave, and can glance down to my right, and know
your dust is underneath; see your tombstone, placed with you in 1906, and the clay placed
over your body, fifty years ago. [Cross-Reference: see "After 37 Years"].
Mother, Every-thing around here has changed, but the everlasting hills, and the
promises of God. Over a field I see the house where angels came for you, but it looks old,
ready to go the way of the earth. All the old people you left are with you now; but a few
of the young people then, are here, the old people, now. The boy you left in the care of
God, is an old man now to the glory of God, through our Lord Jesus Christ. (Nineteen years
later, I attest the same.)
