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James Hibbert McNeil

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James Hibbert McNeil

Birth
Show Low, Navajo County, Arizona, USA
Death
10 Jul 1886 (aged 1)
Show Low, Navajo County, Arizona, USA
Burial
Show Low, Navajo County, Arizona, USA Add to Map
Memorial ID
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Infant son of John Corlett McNeil and Mary Ann Smith.

Following his death his mother wrote a poem about her son who passed away so young, it reads,

"To The Memory Of James Hibbert Smith
Born April 3rd, 1885
Died July 24th, 1886

Our darling one, the household joy,
With nut brown hair and eyes of jet,
With cunning ways, our precious boy,
We never, never can forget.

His roguish smile, how oft' I see,
In thoughts so lone and sad.
And often wish him on my knee,
It would make my heart so glad.

How sorely do I miss him,
And will often turn and look,
For I think I hear him prattling,
In some quiet little nook

Oh, my darling! Why art thou gone,
And left my heart so full of pain?
"Shall I never more behold thee,
Ever hear thy winning voice again?"

I often think how sad the day,
When cruel monster, death came in
And stole my babe away,
So sweetly pure, and free from sin.

And how it was he could not stay,
I often wonder why;
Was it because he was so good
His spirit had to fly?

But often when I think and sit,
With troubled thoughts unstrung,
With humbled heart, I must submit-
My Father's will, not mine, be done."
Infant son of John Corlett McNeil and Mary Ann Smith.

Following his death his mother wrote a poem about her son who passed away so young, it reads,

"To The Memory Of James Hibbert Smith
Born April 3rd, 1885
Died July 24th, 1886

Our darling one, the household joy,
With nut brown hair and eyes of jet,
With cunning ways, our precious boy,
We never, never can forget.

His roguish smile, how oft' I see,
In thoughts so lone and sad.
And often wish him on my knee,
It would make my heart so glad.

How sorely do I miss him,
And will often turn and look,
For I think I hear him prattling,
In some quiet little nook

Oh, my darling! Why art thou gone,
And left my heart so full of pain?
"Shall I never more behold thee,
Ever hear thy winning voice again?"

I often think how sad the day,
When cruel monster, death came in
And stole my babe away,
So sweetly pure, and free from sin.

And how it was he could not stay,
I often wonder why;
Was it because he was so good
His spirit had to fly?

But often when I think and sit,
With troubled thoughts unstrung,
With humbled heart, I must submit-
My Father's will, not mine, be done."

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