Clara McKimmy Swick, daughter of Sarah Rosetta (Cummins)and George W. McKimmy, was born April 13, 1887, and died at the family home in Crooked Creek Township on June 29, 1911. She was married to Hallie Swick on July 31, 1909, by Rev. F. M. Fink, who spoke the last sad words to the many friends of the departed.
Mrs. Swick joined the U.B. Church in her youth and lived a consistent Christian life to the end.
How often do we speak of dying and how often mistaken. Those of our departed have just entered the life of the living. They have just passed from labor to rest. It comes to them as a sweet sleep does to the wearied after a hard day's toil. We are often told to prepare for death, but we think that a person should prepare to live.
Everything has its seasons. The flowers come and go. We are born into the world without our consent and pass from this earthly home unmasked, mayhap without a moment's warning.
It is nature. We mourn because of the separation of friend from friend, knowing not the time, for it may be long and it may be only a few days, months or years, yet the period must end eventually.
This wife and daughter was a good and kind lady, liked by everyone who was acquainted with her, already to assist and help the sick, always agreeable and pleasant to all, and believed in going through life with a smile rather than a frown.
She will be missed by her many friends but more so by her young husband. He will ever be looking and his mind will be searching for Clara, but no doubt she will, by unseen eyes, guide and direct his footsteps.
Here death it's sacred seal hath set,
On bright and bygone hours;
The dead we mourn are with us yet,
And--more than ever--ours.
Clara was accidentally shot and killed by a 5-year-old nephew.
Mrs. Swick joined the U.B. Church in her youth and lived a consistent Christian life to the end.
How often do we speak of dying and how often mistaken. Those of our departed have just entered the life of the living. They have just passed from labor to rest. It comes to them as a sweet sleep does to the wearied after a hard day's toil. We are often told to prepare for death, but we think that a person should prepare to live.
Everything has its seasons. The flowers come and go. We are born into the world without our consent and pass from this earthly home unmasked, mayhap without a moment's warning.
It is nature. We mourn because of the separation of friend from friend, knowing not the time, for it may be long and it may be only a few days, months or years, yet the period must end eventually.
This wife and daughter was a good and kind lady, liked by everyone who was acquainted with her, already to assist and help the sick, always agreeable and pleasant to all, and believed in going through life with a smile rather than a frown.
She will be missed by her many friends but more so by her young husband. He will ever be looking and his mind will be searching for Clara, but no doubt she will, by unseen eyes, guide and direct his footsteps.
Here death it's sacred seal hath set,
On bright and bygone hours;
The dead we mourn are with us yet,
And--more than ever--ours.
Clara was accidentally shot and killed by a 5-year-old nephew.
Clara McKimmy Swick, daughter of Sarah Rosetta (Cummins)and George W. McKimmy, was born April 13, 1887, and died at the family home in Crooked Creek Township on June 29, 1911. She was married to Hallie Swick on July 31, 1909, by Rev. F. M. Fink, who spoke the last sad words to the many friends of the departed.
Mrs. Swick joined the U.B. Church in her youth and lived a consistent Christian life to the end.
How often do we speak of dying and how often mistaken. Those of our departed have just entered the life of the living. They have just passed from labor to rest. It comes to them as a sweet sleep does to the wearied after a hard day's toil. We are often told to prepare for death, but we think that a person should prepare to live.
Everything has its seasons. The flowers come and go. We are born into the world without our consent and pass from this earthly home unmasked, mayhap without a moment's warning.
It is nature. We mourn because of the separation of friend from friend, knowing not the time, for it may be long and it may be only a few days, months or years, yet the period must end eventually.
This wife and daughter was a good and kind lady, liked by everyone who was acquainted with her, already to assist and help the sick, always agreeable and pleasant to all, and believed in going through life with a smile rather than a frown.
She will be missed by her many friends but more so by her young husband. He will ever be looking and his mind will be searching for Clara, but no doubt she will, by unseen eyes, guide and direct his footsteps.
Here death it's sacred seal hath set,
On bright and bygone hours;
The dead we mourn are with us yet,
And--more than ever--ours.
Clara was accidentally shot and killed by a 5-year-old nephew.
Mrs. Swick joined the U.B. Church in her youth and lived a consistent Christian life to the end.
How often do we speak of dying and how often mistaken. Those of our departed have just entered the life of the living. They have just passed from labor to rest. It comes to them as a sweet sleep does to the wearied after a hard day's toil. We are often told to prepare for death, but we think that a person should prepare to live.
Everything has its seasons. The flowers come and go. We are born into the world without our consent and pass from this earthly home unmasked, mayhap without a moment's warning.
It is nature. We mourn because of the separation of friend from friend, knowing not the time, for it may be long and it may be only a few days, months or years, yet the period must end eventually.
This wife and daughter was a good and kind lady, liked by everyone who was acquainted with her, already to assist and help the sick, always agreeable and pleasant to all, and believed in going through life with a smile rather than a frown.
She will be missed by her many friends but more so by her young husband. He will ever be looking and his mind will be searching for Clara, but no doubt she will, by unseen eyes, guide and direct his footsteps.
Here death it's sacred seal hath set,
On bright and bygone hours;
The dead we mourn are with us yet,
And--more than ever--ours.
Clara was accidentally shot and killed by a 5-year-old nephew.
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