Would That I Could Read

I met her, the latest issue of "The Woman's Voice" in my hand, and she was asking me to write a letter for her to her brother, a soldier at the front... She looked at "The Woman's Voice," took it and turned it over, and said, "What is this?" I said: "The Woman's Voice" — a women's magazine that carries woman's message to the world. She sighed and said: "Would that I could read"... would that I could read... And there took shape in me a desire to write something: "from a letter to the writer."

Forgive me, father... I did not mean to indict life, nor did I intend any word of blame.
For my soul's whole purpose was... to give her a taste of a cup... of knowledge in its plenty.

Until a short while ago she was... the enchantment of all eyes, the dream of lovers.
Hearts yearned toward her... in their morning goings... with bitter moaning.
Until, when a young man came knocking, he met... her grave countenance,
and turned swiftly back to where his companion stood, bearing the certain news:
"The finest subtleties of art... and waves of beauty... of these the makers' hands kneaded her."

And there was a morning... and there was an evening... in which the gaiety of her brow ebbed away...

And now... the bough has withered all too soon... carrying off the gaiety of the years,
and people ask... with the anguish of the bereaved... What ails her? What has befallen the precious magic?
Where is the glow of the cheeks? Where the laughter of the roses?... Where is that jasmine?
All of it has gone... leaving in its place the trace of a buried grief.

"I awoke upon the world... all trust in the world... and in the great promise...
And I longed, from the moment I understood life... to come down to the wellspring of sound learning.
But...!!! straitened means... and mother's will... and the wise father's judgment:
'Learning is no curb for a girl — blessed is she in her character and her sound mind.'"

And her rushing speech was cut short... by a choking of lurking pain.
And another choking... and it was over... and there was a baby girl whose color was the likeness of silver.
She looked at the newborn child... a look of fear that carried all tenderness,
and she grasped the little one's hand... crying out from her sinking heart... in a voice of faint ring:
"Teach her... teach her... even with the money of the charitable."
And the little one felt... the departing voice, and let out the cry of one who protests.
And the closing of the scene... it bore away the mother's life... so it was the mother's end... and with it the shameful chapter ended.

A cry of truth... the departing girl sent it to the conscience of all who hear.
So may the light pulse... and the dawn break... and God is the Helper...