CALLED HOME
Saturday night while nights stillness and nights asstral glories suggested earths preparation for the quietude and worship of the Christian sabbath the summons from the world beyond came for the pure, gently spirit of Mrs W H Fiquet to quit the tenement of clay and dwell in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Truly as a thief in the night came the dark messenger to lay his withering hand upon a peaceful home and a beautiful life. When Saturday's sun lingered upon the western hills it saw unbroken in this home the ties which complete the magic circle of family love and live, its departing rays fell as lines of burnished gold upon a household busy with the weekend duties but happy in the peace and health that rested like a benediction upon the lives of all and the halo of loves sweet light which crowned and blessed the home. But how slender the cord of human life, how frail the ties that hold and complete the circle of our home life here below.
Saturday evenings meal was the last the unbroken family was to enjoy, for she who for so long had the loved center to which no member of the family had ever appealed in vain for tender sympathy or loving aid pushed aside the chair which must ever be vacant and left the home table forever. At the hour of retiring the lights were turned down and a happy family serenely sought repose. But almost in the twinkling of an eye came the summons, and the loving wife, mother and sister was no more. Weary and worn with the burden of years the heart strings snapped and the mystery we call life was changed almost instantly to the mystery we call death.
Mrs William H Fiquet, whose maiden name was Miss Louisa Howell, was born in Marion, Alabama, Feb 23, 1843.
She married to Mr Willliam H Fiquet Sept 27, 1865.
Her husband, one daughter, Mrs H P Strayer of Knoxville, Tennessee, and four sons, Theodore H, John B, Charles R, and Louis A, with four sisters and two brothers survive her.
In early life she gave herself to her Savior; for Him she lived, sustained by Him she died. She had resided in Honey Grove twenty five years and the sweet Christian life which was so long a benediction to her family and friends will continue to bless and sweeten the lives of those who knew her while the cycles of time roll on.
Hers was a beautiful life, hers was a pure, sweet, gently face. He who attempts to pay tribure to her memory here saw her for the last time on earth on short week ago tonight, when she sat near and listened so attentively to the words of the man of God when her church was dedicated to the Lord. Her hearing was defective and she strained as it were the aural nerves that no word of the message might be missed. We rejoice to know that in that beautiful realm prepared for gently spirits like her own deaf ear has been unstopped and the words of her God fall in gentlest cadence upon her enraptured soul.
We are told that the last service she performed on earth was to write a letter to her son in a distant city. We are told also that about the same hour the son wrote a letter to mother. The great valley of death stretched forth its arm and broke the line of communication ere loves last sweet message could be told, but these messages live, live as love notes of sorrow on earth, live as paeans of victory and praise in the brighter world beyond the sunsets radiant glow; and how sweet twill be when they are repeated face to face in the City of Our God.
The joy, the presence, the hope, the life of one short week ago is but a memory now. The pastor has spoken words of consolation and of hope; loved ones have gathered round the honored bier for a last, lingering look, the funeral train has moved with slow and solem tread to the silent city.
There is a vacant chair at the hearthstone, there is a hallowed mound banked with withered flowers in Oakwood and deepest sorrow with ebon pinions hovers over a home once happy but now desolate. Such is thy ministration of sorrow. O death, but even thy night time visitations are not to be compared to eternal joys of morning. Sore is the grief of bereaved, but on the sweetness, the preciousness this beautiful life has touched into the words Wife, Mother, Sister.
Gladly would we speak words of comfort to those who mourn, but we cannot. We commend them to Him who ever listens and who never forsakes.
Saturday night while nights stillness and nights asstral glories suggested earths preparation for the quietude and worship of the Christian sabbath the summons from the world beyond came for the pure, gently spirit of Mrs W H Fiquet to quit the tenement of clay and dwell in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Truly as a thief in the night came the dark messenger to lay his withering hand upon a peaceful home and a beautiful life. When Saturday's sun lingered upon the western hills it saw unbroken in this home the ties which complete the magic circle of family love and live, its departing rays fell as lines of burnished gold upon a household busy with the weekend duties but happy in the peace and health that rested like a benediction upon the lives of all and the halo of loves sweet light which crowned and blessed the home. But how slender the cord of human life, how frail the ties that hold and complete the circle of our home life here below.
Saturday evenings meal was the last the unbroken family was to enjoy, for she who for so long had the loved center to which no member of the family had ever appealed in vain for tender sympathy or loving aid pushed aside the chair which must ever be vacant and left the home table forever. At the hour of retiring the lights were turned down and a happy family serenely sought repose. But almost in the twinkling of an eye came the summons, and the loving wife, mother and sister was no more. Weary and worn with the burden of years the heart strings snapped and the mystery we call life was changed almost instantly to the mystery we call death.
Mrs William H Fiquet, whose maiden name was Miss Louisa Howell, was born in Marion, Alabama, Feb 23, 1843.
She married to Mr Willliam H Fiquet Sept 27, 1865.
Her husband, one daughter, Mrs H P Strayer of Knoxville, Tennessee, and four sons, Theodore H, John B, Charles R, and Louis A, with four sisters and two brothers survive her.
In early life she gave herself to her Savior; for Him she lived, sustained by Him she died. She had resided in Honey Grove twenty five years and the sweet Christian life which was so long a benediction to her family and friends will continue to bless and sweeten the lives of those who knew her while the cycles of time roll on.
Hers was a beautiful life, hers was a pure, sweet, gently face. He who attempts to pay tribure to her memory here saw her for the last time on earth on short week ago tonight, when she sat near and listened so attentively to the words of the man of God when her church was dedicated to the Lord. Her hearing was defective and she strained as it were the aural nerves that no word of the message might be missed. We rejoice to know that in that beautiful realm prepared for gently spirits like her own deaf ear has been unstopped and the words of her God fall in gentlest cadence upon her enraptured soul.
We are told that the last service she performed on earth was to write a letter to her son in a distant city. We are told also that about the same hour the son wrote a letter to mother. The great valley of death stretched forth its arm and broke the line of communication ere loves last sweet message could be told, but these messages live, live as love notes of sorrow on earth, live as paeans of victory and praise in the brighter world beyond the sunsets radiant glow; and how sweet twill be when they are repeated face to face in the City of Our God.
The joy, the presence, the hope, the life of one short week ago is but a memory now. The pastor has spoken words of consolation and of hope; loved ones have gathered round the honored bier for a last, lingering look, the funeral train has moved with slow and solem tread to the silent city.
There is a vacant chair at the hearthstone, there is a hallowed mound banked with withered flowers in Oakwood and deepest sorrow with ebon pinions hovers over a home once happy but now desolate. Such is thy ministration of sorrow. O death, but even thy night time visitations are not to be compared to eternal joys of morning. Sore is the grief of bereaved, but on the sweetness, the preciousness this beautiful life has touched into the words Wife, Mother, Sister.
Gladly would we speak words of comfort to those who mourn, but we cannot. We commend them to Him who ever listens and who never forsakes.
CALLED HOME
Saturday night while nights stillness and nights asstral glories suggested earths preparation for the quietude and worship of the Christian sabbath the summons from the world beyond came for the pure, gently spirit of Mrs W H Fiquet to quit the tenement of clay and dwell in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Truly as a thief in the night came the dark messenger to lay his withering hand upon a peaceful home and a beautiful life. When Saturday's sun lingered upon the western hills it saw unbroken in this home the ties which complete the magic circle of family love and live, its departing rays fell as lines of burnished gold upon a household busy with the weekend duties but happy in the peace and health that rested like a benediction upon the lives of all and the halo of loves sweet light which crowned and blessed the home. But how slender the cord of human life, how frail the ties that hold and complete the circle of our home life here below.
Saturday evenings meal was the last the unbroken family was to enjoy, for she who for so long had the loved center to which no member of the family had ever appealed in vain for tender sympathy or loving aid pushed aside the chair which must ever be vacant and left the home table forever. At the hour of retiring the lights were turned down and a happy family serenely sought repose. But almost in the twinkling of an eye came the summons, and the loving wife, mother and sister was no more. Weary and worn with the burden of years the heart strings snapped and the mystery we call life was changed almost instantly to the mystery we call death.
Mrs William H Fiquet, whose maiden name was Miss Louisa Howell, was born in Marion, Alabama, Feb 23, 1843.
She married to Mr Willliam H Fiquet Sept 27, 1865.
Her husband, one daughter, Mrs H P Strayer of Knoxville, Tennessee, and four sons, Theodore H, John B, Charles R, and Louis A, with four sisters and two brothers survive her.
In early life she gave herself to her Savior; for Him she lived, sustained by Him she died. She had resided in Honey Grove twenty five years and the sweet Christian life which was so long a benediction to her family and friends will continue to bless and sweeten the lives of those who knew her while the cycles of time roll on.
Hers was a beautiful life, hers was a pure, sweet, gently face. He who attempts to pay tribure to her memory here saw her for the last time on earth on short week ago tonight, when she sat near and listened so attentively to the words of the man of God when her church was dedicated to the Lord. Her hearing was defective and she strained as it were the aural nerves that no word of the message might be missed. We rejoice to know that in that beautiful realm prepared for gently spirits like her own deaf ear has been unstopped and the words of her God fall in gentlest cadence upon her enraptured soul.
We are told that the last service she performed on earth was to write a letter to her son in a distant city. We are told also that about the same hour the son wrote a letter to mother. The great valley of death stretched forth its arm and broke the line of communication ere loves last sweet message could be told, but these messages live, live as love notes of sorrow on earth, live as paeans of victory and praise in the brighter world beyond the sunsets radiant glow; and how sweet twill be when they are repeated face to face in the City of Our God.
The joy, the presence, the hope, the life of one short week ago is but a memory now. The pastor has spoken words of consolation and of hope; loved ones have gathered round the honored bier for a last, lingering look, the funeral train has moved with slow and solem tread to the silent city.
There is a vacant chair at the hearthstone, there is a hallowed mound banked with withered flowers in Oakwood and deepest sorrow with ebon pinions hovers over a home once happy but now desolate. Such is thy ministration of sorrow. O death, but even thy night time visitations are not to be compared to eternal joys of morning. Sore is the grief of bereaved, but on the sweetness, the preciousness this beautiful life has touched into the words Wife, Mother, Sister.
Gladly would we speak words of comfort to those who mourn, but we cannot. We commend them to Him who ever listens and who never forsakes.
Saturday night while nights stillness and nights asstral glories suggested earths preparation for the quietude and worship of the Christian sabbath the summons from the world beyond came for the pure, gently spirit of Mrs W H Fiquet to quit the tenement of clay and dwell in the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
Truly as a thief in the night came the dark messenger to lay his withering hand upon a peaceful home and a beautiful life. When Saturday's sun lingered upon the western hills it saw unbroken in this home the ties which complete the magic circle of family love and live, its departing rays fell as lines of burnished gold upon a household busy with the weekend duties but happy in the peace and health that rested like a benediction upon the lives of all and the halo of loves sweet light which crowned and blessed the home. But how slender the cord of human life, how frail the ties that hold and complete the circle of our home life here below.
Saturday evenings meal was the last the unbroken family was to enjoy, for she who for so long had the loved center to which no member of the family had ever appealed in vain for tender sympathy or loving aid pushed aside the chair which must ever be vacant and left the home table forever. At the hour of retiring the lights were turned down and a happy family serenely sought repose. But almost in the twinkling of an eye came the summons, and the loving wife, mother and sister was no more. Weary and worn with the burden of years the heart strings snapped and the mystery we call life was changed almost instantly to the mystery we call death.
Mrs William H Fiquet, whose maiden name was Miss Louisa Howell, was born in Marion, Alabama, Feb 23, 1843.
She married to Mr Willliam H Fiquet Sept 27, 1865.
Her husband, one daughter, Mrs H P Strayer of Knoxville, Tennessee, and four sons, Theodore H, John B, Charles R, and Louis A, with four sisters and two brothers survive her.
In early life she gave herself to her Savior; for Him she lived, sustained by Him she died. She had resided in Honey Grove twenty five years and the sweet Christian life which was so long a benediction to her family and friends will continue to bless and sweeten the lives of those who knew her while the cycles of time roll on.
Hers was a beautiful life, hers was a pure, sweet, gently face. He who attempts to pay tribure to her memory here saw her for the last time on earth on short week ago tonight, when she sat near and listened so attentively to the words of the man of God when her church was dedicated to the Lord. Her hearing was defective and she strained as it were the aural nerves that no word of the message might be missed. We rejoice to know that in that beautiful realm prepared for gently spirits like her own deaf ear has been unstopped and the words of her God fall in gentlest cadence upon her enraptured soul.
We are told that the last service she performed on earth was to write a letter to her son in a distant city. We are told also that about the same hour the son wrote a letter to mother. The great valley of death stretched forth its arm and broke the line of communication ere loves last sweet message could be told, but these messages live, live as love notes of sorrow on earth, live as paeans of victory and praise in the brighter world beyond the sunsets radiant glow; and how sweet twill be when they are repeated face to face in the City of Our God.
The joy, the presence, the hope, the life of one short week ago is but a memory now. The pastor has spoken words of consolation and of hope; loved ones have gathered round the honored bier for a last, lingering look, the funeral train has moved with slow and solem tread to the silent city.
There is a vacant chair at the hearthstone, there is a hallowed mound banked with withered flowers in Oakwood and deepest sorrow with ebon pinions hovers over a home once happy but now desolate. Such is thy ministration of sorrow. O death, but even thy night time visitations are not to be compared to eternal joys of morning. Sore is the grief of bereaved, but on the sweetness, the preciousness this beautiful life has touched into the words Wife, Mother, Sister.
Gladly would we speak words of comfort to those who mourn, but we cannot. We commend them to Him who ever listens and who never forsakes.
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