Iberia County Louisiana Archives Obituaries.....Widney, Ancil Henry - May 27, 1903
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Mary K. Creamer marykcreamer@yahoo.com September 21, 2019, 11:50 pm

source: The Times-Democrat (New Orleans, Louisiana) Wednesday, 28 May 1903,
page 2

Ancil H. Widney, New Iberia. - Special to The Times-Democrat. - New Iberia, 
La., May 27. - Ancil H. Widney, a native of Indiana, died here to-day at his 
residence after a lingering illness, aged forty-seven years. He Leaves a
widow  and one child. Mr. Widney was a man of considerable literary
attainments, having won for himself the title of "The Poet of the Teche." He
was buried from his residence by the Woodmen of the World, of which he was a
member.


source: New Iberia Enterprise and Independent Observer. (New Iberia, La.)
1902-1944, May 30, 1903, Image 3

DEATH OF MR. ANCIL H. WIDNEY. - Our community was greatly shocked by the new
of the death of this popular citizen. It was known that Mr. Widney had been
suffering with fever for some time, but as his condition was reported as
favorable we were not prepared for the sudden demise, which was caused by a
sudden turn in his malady.

Mr. Widney came here some eight years ago from Kansas, overland, bringing his
family and belongings in a wagon, a most arduous trip, but one which it was
supposed would conduce to his health which even them was not of the best. His
arrival here and embarkation in business is well known and most attractively
and modestly told in the columns of the Industrialist, which has been read
by thousands to their edification and encouragement. Mr. Widney was a success
from the start. With scarcely anything buthis teams at the commencement, he
soon worked his way into a most remunerative business. The "Gilt Edge" dairy
was well known, and as its name suggested was a synonym of first class goods
and service - from such humble beginnings he rapidly reached the position of
owner of a first class establishment of graded stock, a beautiful new modern
home with 120 acres of land all unencumbered and in first class order. It is 
with pride that we pen these words, as it shows how industry, thrift and
common sense will be rewarded when properly applied.

Mr. Widney was a man of rare good judgment and of poetic temperament many of
his gems were published in the columns of the "Enterprise" and other papers
North and West and displayed a rare order of talent, and eagerly read and
appreciated by a host of readers, who at once united in calling him the "Poet
of the Teche." Mr. Widney was not a professing Christian, but a spirit of
reverence for the Supreme Being was noticed in all he said and did. The funeral
obsequies was held at his residence under the management of the Woodmen of the
World of which order he was a valued member. According to their beautiful and
touching ritual, his body was laid away and his spirit consigned to the God who
gave it. Almost the entire community attended, and all showing by their words
and acts their sorrow at the loss of a most worthy citizen. A wife and two
children remain to mourn the loss of a companion and father, to whom we offer
our sincerest sympathy.

The following poem written by Mr. Widney, published in these columns, Aug. 20,
1898, will beread with interest:

I often think, while sitting alone,
O'er a life that is past, or a life to come,
Must I for each youthful folly atone,
Or will God in his way cancel the sum?
Who knows?
And I often reflect with an aching head
O'er deeds passed by both right and wrong,
And wonder when this life is fled,
Will I be debarred from the angel throng,
Who knows?
Though I offer no prayers,
As the hypocrite prays,
Standing aloof that all may see;
When some are climbing the golden stairs,
Will there be no room for me,
Who knows?
Although my speech be rough and rude,
And lack the polish possessed by some,
Will I be told that I intrude,
If I ask for a share in those joys to come,
Who knows?
Though I give to the poor in a quiet way,
Asking not that the world may see,
And go not along in the orthodox way,
Will they shut the doors of Heaven to me,
Who knows?
When all these questions arise in my mind,
As I list to the tales that some people tell,
I often wonder who I'll leave behind,
If I am condemned to enter Hell,
Who knows?
So I've made up my mind whatever be my fate,
Hypocrites and Humbugs to ever oppose,
And perhaps I may enter the pearly gate,
Who knows?
Who knows?


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