IN MEMORIUM
East Carroll newspaper (unknown date)
Maggie May Millikin, was born November 22d, 1884 - died August 29th 1886
Miles Sells Millikin, was born June 27th 1883, and died Sept. 20th 1886
"The air is full of farewells for the dying
And mournings for the dead -------."
When two precious buds are so suddenly snatch from the parental stem, in their purity and innocence by the icy hand of death, we look on aghast, and tearfully wonder at the mysterious power that governs human existence from the cradle to the grave; generation after generation through the interminable centuries, and in the agony of our grief impatiently ask. Why all this suffering? Why cut down these helpless, innocent little ones, to the cold grave just as their lisping tongues are beginning to make sweet music for parental ears? Oh why?
The heartstricken mother, crazed with grief, reaches out her loving arms in vain to hold back sweet "Maggie May" from the cold embrace of death, and the distracted father nervously insists that his precious boy shall stay with him. The son of his love! the light of his existence! but he also - yes both; insist in vain.
"Death's pale flag," is raised, the light of life passes out of the little ones eyes; they have gone into the mysterious beyond, and language cannot possibly tell what suffering now exists in that lonesome dwelling on the Eyrie plantation.
Sad, too sad; though true, is the picture we have drawn (but it is only a repetition of what the ages have witnessed) and if poor humanity was compelled to crouch down under the dense clouds of grief with which "cruel death" surrounds us, when it takes away those who are nearest and dearest to our hearts; who are so closely entwined in and around our very existence. Those heart strings would surely break, and existence itself would become a burden too heavy to be borne; if there was no hope in the future; no meeting again with the precious ones so suddenly wrenched away from us. But there is hope! This writer would gently say to his tearfully bereaved friends. "There is hope" for "There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath ----- is but a suburb o' the life elysian, whose portals we call death."
The "noiseless foot of time" will travel on, and quietly, and almost unconsciously heal the painful wounds that death has made; and in the new morning of life, when all earthly cares, pains, griefs and anxieties have passed away, you will meet your little ones, and be happy or the sunlight of love forever will surround their brows to the presence of the Master. This is true, because the good book says, "God is love."
East Carroll newspaper (unknown date)
Maggie May Millikin, was born November 22d, 1884 - died August 29th 1886
Miles Sells Millikin, was born June 27th 1883, and died Sept. 20th 1886
"The air is full of farewells for the dying
And mournings for the dead -------."
When two precious buds are so suddenly snatch from the parental stem, in their purity and innocence by the icy hand of death, we look on aghast, and tearfully wonder at the mysterious power that governs human existence from the cradle to the grave; generation after generation through the interminable centuries, and in the agony of our grief impatiently ask. Why all this suffering? Why cut down these helpless, innocent little ones, to the cold grave just as their lisping tongues are beginning to make sweet music for parental ears? Oh why?
The heartstricken mother, crazed with grief, reaches out her loving arms in vain to hold back sweet "Maggie May" from the cold embrace of death, and the distracted father nervously insists that his precious boy shall stay with him. The son of his love! the light of his existence! but he also - yes both; insist in vain.
"Death's pale flag," is raised, the light of life passes out of the little ones eyes; they have gone into the mysterious beyond, and language cannot possibly tell what suffering now exists in that lonesome dwelling on the Eyrie plantation.
Sad, too sad; though true, is the picture we have drawn (but it is only a repetition of what the ages have witnessed) and if poor humanity was compelled to crouch down under the dense clouds of grief with which "cruel death" surrounds us, when it takes away those who are nearest and dearest to our hearts; who are so closely entwined in and around our very existence. Those heart strings would surely break, and existence itself would become a burden too heavy to be borne; if there was no hope in the future; no meeting again with the precious ones so suddenly wrenched away from us. But there is hope! This writer would gently say to his tearfully bereaved friends. "There is hope" for "There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath ----- is but a suburb o' the life elysian, whose portals we call death."
The "noiseless foot of time" will travel on, and quietly, and almost unconsciously heal the painful wounds that death has made; and in the new morning of life, when all earthly cares, pains, griefs and anxieties have passed away, you will meet your little ones, and be happy or the sunlight of love forever will surround their brows to the presence of the Master. This is true, because the good book says, "God is love."
IN MEMORIUM
East Carroll newspaper (unknown date)
Maggie May Millikin, was born November 22d, 1884 - died August 29th 1886
Miles Sells Millikin, was born June 27th 1883, and died Sept. 20th 1886
"The air is full of farewells for the dying
And mournings for the dead -------."
When two precious buds are so suddenly snatch from the parental stem, in their purity and innocence by the icy hand of death, we look on aghast, and tearfully wonder at the mysterious power that governs human existence from the cradle to the grave; generation after generation through the interminable centuries, and in the agony of our grief impatiently ask. Why all this suffering? Why cut down these helpless, innocent little ones, to the cold grave just as their lisping tongues are beginning to make sweet music for parental ears? Oh why?
The heartstricken mother, crazed with grief, reaches out her loving arms in vain to hold back sweet "Maggie May" from the cold embrace of death, and the distracted father nervously insists that his precious boy shall stay with him. The son of his love! the light of his existence! but he also - yes both; insist in vain.
"Death's pale flag," is raised, the light of life passes out of the little ones eyes; they have gone into the mysterious beyond, and language cannot possibly tell what suffering now exists in that lonesome dwelling on the Eyrie plantation.
Sad, too sad; though true, is the picture we have drawn (but it is only a repetition of what the ages have witnessed) and if poor humanity was compelled to crouch down under the dense clouds of grief with which "cruel death" surrounds us, when it takes away those who are nearest and dearest to our hearts; who are so closely entwined in and around our very existence. Those heart strings would surely break, and existence itself would become a burden too heavy to be borne; if there was no hope in the future; no meeting again with the precious ones so suddenly wrenched away from us. But there is hope! This writer would gently say to his tearfully bereaved friends. "There is hope" for "There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath ----- is but a suburb o' the life elysian, whose portals we call death."
The "noiseless foot of time" will travel on, and quietly, and almost unconsciously heal the painful wounds that death has made; and in the new morning of life, when all earthly cares, pains, griefs and anxieties have passed away, you will meet your little ones, and be happy or the sunlight of love forever will surround their brows to the presence of the Master. This is true, because the good book says, "God is love."
East Carroll newspaper (unknown date)
Maggie May Millikin, was born November 22d, 1884 - died August 29th 1886
Miles Sells Millikin, was born June 27th 1883, and died Sept. 20th 1886
"The air is full of farewells for the dying
And mournings for the dead -------."
When two precious buds are so suddenly snatch from the parental stem, in their purity and innocence by the icy hand of death, we look on aghast, and tearfully wonder at the mysterious power that governs human existence from the cradle to the grave; generation after generation through the interminable centuries, and in the agony of our grief impatiently ask. Why all this suffering? Why cut down these helpless, innocent little ones, to the cold grave just as their lisping tongues are beginning to make sweet music for parental ears? Oh why?
The heartstricken mother, crazed with grief, reaches out her loving arms in vain to hold back sweet "Maggie May" from the cold embrace of death, and the distracted father nervously insists that his precious boy shall stay with him. The son of his love! the light of his existence! but he also - yes both; insist in vain.
"Death's pale flag," is raised, the light of life passes out of the little ones eyes; they have gone into the mysterious beyond, and language cannot possibly tell what suffering now exists in that lonesome dwelling on the Eyrie plantation.
Sad, too sad; though true, is the picture we have drawn (but it is only a repetition of what the ages have witnessed) and if poor humanity was compelled to crouch down under the dense clouds of grief with which "cruel death" surrounds us, when it takes away those who are nearest and dearest to our hearts; who are so closely entwined in and around our very existence. Those heart strings would surely break, and existence itself would become a burden too heavy to be borne; if there was no hope in the future; no meeting again with the precious ones so suddenly wrenched away from us. But there is hope! This writer would gently say to his tearfully bereaved friends. "There is hope" for "There is no death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath ----- is but a suburb o' the life elysian, whose portals we call death."
The "noiseless foot of time" will travel on, and quietly, and almost unconsciously heal the painful wounds that death has made; and in the new morning of life, when all earthly cares, pains, griefs and anxieties have passed away, you will meet your little ones, and be happy or the sunlight of love forever will surround their brows to the presence of the Master. This is true, because the good book says, "God is love."
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