Lura was the fifth and last child of Wallace and Elizabeth Davenport. (See Wallace's and Elizabeth's biographies for a sense of the Davenports' family life.)
On Sept. 17, 1882, when Lura was one year old, her mother wrote to Lura's older sister, Luella ("Loie"): Lura looks as sweet as two weeks ago when you were here. [Small scrawl.] There, she has written her letter to Loie. She wears the same dress she wore two weeks ago and the new pink apron I made for her last week. She has been trying to sew on the machine. (See photo.)
Lura died four months later, at one year and five months. Luella, not yet 18 when Lura died, later penned this poem about her:
Our Lura
“A little child shall lead them”
Sweet, serious eyes so calm and bright,
So full of soft and tender light,
And childlike face so pure and fair
Set in its frame of shining hair;
White hands I have so often kissed,
So fondly loved, so greatly missed.
From “gates ajar” that form I see,
Transfigured, shine and beckon me.
We own the strength of that dear hand
To lead us to the Better Land.
Luella also wrote the following lament concerning her sister:
Her Birthday
Only two years ago! And yet in those short months there has been woven in the web of my life many threads of "crimson pain" and "violet grief." Yes, and shining threads of love, "joy's gold," and "fair between, hope's shifting lines of emerald green."
Two years since the bright August morning when the arrowy beams of sunlight chased the darkness from hill and vale, drank the few drops of dew which sparkled by the roadside and crisped the tender grass in the meadows, two years since I first knelt by her side.
Just a pure, sweet lily-bud then; but in the days which swiftly passed on and on into eternity she blossomed into a perfect flower.
Why was it that countless tears poured over my face as I gazed for the first time on the silken rings of hair and tiny hand, pressed the first kiss on that sinless forehead and gave her a warm welcome to my heart?
I was thinking of her life; could I always smooth the rough places for her? Ah! I little thought she would so soon go to the bright mansions, leaving such sad and lonely hearts to wait.
Only a few days and the shadows gathered over our little home; even in our new-found joy the blow fell heavily. Our dear, good grandpa "went home" in the purple shadows of a still summer evening.
He had never seen the baby, but when suffering so terribly with the near approach of death ere the love-light faded from his eyes, he spoke of baby and its mother and longed to see them.
Yes, Grandpa was gone, and we missed him sadly, but we had known that the "Reaper is near to the longstanding corn;" we knew he was ready to go. And so we clasped the sweet lily-bud closer to our hearts and thanked Him "Who doeth all things well" for our precious treasure, for the blessings which were yet ours.
Few days and months had passed ere she had entwined herself into our very lives. How many thoughtful hours were spent with her, watching the sweet, calm baby face smiling in refreshing sleep, noting the beauty of snowy hands and the curve of the long-fringed eyelids, bending over to kiss the rosy mouth, singing in the quiet twilight and folding the cover gently about the tiny form.
What name could be beautiful enough for this angel-child? Ah, how many, many names were thought of, discussed and dropped ere we found a fitting one for her, and then it was not quite pretty enough; but oh, how sweet it sounded when pronounced by her tiny lips!
(More of the lament followed but is now lost.)
As another type of tribute, Lura's older brother Emerson, who was 13 when Lura died, in time would name his second child, born Dec. 16, 1902, Lura.
On Sept. 17, 1882, when Lura was one year old, her mother wrote to Lura's older sister, Luella ("Loie"): Lura looks as sweet as two weeks ago when you were here. [Small scrawl.] There, she has written her letter to Loie. She wears the same dress she wore two weeks ago and the new pink apron I made for her last week. She has been trying to sew on the machine. (See photo.)
Lura died four months later, at one year and five months. Luella, not yet 18 when Lura died, later penned this poem about her:
Our Lura
“A little child shall lead them”
Sweet, serious eyes so calm and bright,
So full of soft and tender light,
And childlike face so pure and fair
Set in its frame of shining hair;
White hands I have so often kissed,
So fondly loved, so greatly missed.
From “gates ajar” that form I see,
Transfigured, shine and beckon me.
We own the strength of that dear hand
To lead us to the Better Land.
Luella also wrote the following lament concerning her sister:
Her Birthday
Only two years ago! And yet in those short months there has been woven in the web of my life many threads of "crimson pain" and "violet grief." Yes, and shining threads of love, "joy's gold," and "fair between, hope's shifting lines of emerald green."
Two years since the bright August morning when the arrowy beams of sunlight chased the darkness from hill and vale, drank the few drops of dew which sparkled by the roadside and crisped the tender grass in the meadows, two years since I first knelt by her side.
Just a pure, sweet lily-bud then; but in the days which swiftly passed on and on into eternity she blossomed into a perfect flower.
Why was it that countless tears poured over my face as I gazed for the first time on the silken rings of hair and tiny hand, pressed the first kiss on that sinless forehead and gave her a warm welcome to my heart?
I was thinking of her life; could I always smooth the rough places for her? Ah! I little thought she would so soon go to the bright mansions, leaving such sad and lonely hearts to wait.
Only a few days and the shadows gathered over our little home; even in our new-found joy the blow fell heavily. Our dear, good grandpa "went home" in the purple shadows of a still summer evening.
He had never seen the baby, but when suffering so terribly with the near approach of death ere the love-light faded from his eyes, he spoke of baby and its mother and longed to see them.
Yes, Grandpa was gone, and we missed him sadly, but we had known that the "Reaper is near to the longstanding corn;" we knew he was ready to go. And so we clasped the sweet lily-bud closer to our hearts and thanked Him "Who doeth all things well" for our precious treasure, for the blessings which were yet ours.
Few days and months had passed ere she had entwined herself into our very lives. How many thoughtful hours were spent with her, watching the sweet, calm baby face smiling in refreshing sleep, noting the beauty of snowy hands and the curve of the long-fringed eyelids, bending over to kiss the rosy mouth, singing in the quiet twilight and folding the cover gently about the tiny form.
What name could be beautiful enough for this angel-child? Ah, how many, many names were thought of, discussed and dropped ere we found a fitting one for her, and then it was not quite pretty enough; but oh, how sweet it sounded when pronounced by her tiny lips!
(More of the lament followed but is now lost.)
As another type of tribute, Lura's older brother Emerson, who was 13 when Lura died, in time would name his second child, born Dec. 16, 1902, Lura.
Lura was the fifth and last child of Wallace and Elizabeth Davenport. (See Wallace's and Elizabeth's biographies for a sense of the Davenports' family life.)
On Sept. 17, 1882, when Lura was one year old, her mother wrote to Lura's older sister, Luella ("Loie"): Lura looks as sweet as two weeks ago when you were here. [Small scrawl.] There, she has written her letter to Loie. She wears the same dress she wore two weeks ago and the new pink apron I made for her last week. She has been trying to sew on the machine. (See photo.)
Lura died four months later, at one year and five months. Luella, not yet 18 when Lura died, later penned this poem about her:
Our Lura
“A little child shall lead them”
Sweet, serious eyes so calm and bright,
So full of soft and tender light,
And childlike face so pure and fair
Set in its frame of shining hair;
White hands I have so often kissed,
So fondly loved, so greatly missed.
From “gates ajar” that form I see,
Transfigured, shine and beckon me.
We own the strength of that dear hand
To lead us to the Better Land.
Luella also wrote the following lament concerning her sister:
Her Birthday
Only two years ago! And yet in those short months there has been woven in the web of my life many threads of "crimson pain" and "violet grief." Yes, and shining threads of love, "joy's gold," and "fair between, hope's shifting lines of emerald green."
Two years since the bright August morning when the arrowy beams of sunlight chased the darkness from hill and vale, drank the few drops of dew which sparkled by the roadside and crisped the tender grass in the meadows, two years since I first knelt by her side.
Just a pure, sweet lily-bud then; but in the days which swiftly passed on and on into eternity she blossomed into a perfect flower.
Why was it that countless tears poured over my face as I gazed for the first time on the silken rings of hair and tiny hand, pressed the first kiss on that sinless forehead and gave her a warm welcome to my heart?
I was thinking of her life; could I always smooth the rough places for her? Ah! I little thought she would so soon go to the bright mansions, leaving such sad and lonely hearts to wait.
Only a few days and the shadows gathered over our little home; even in our new-found joy the blow fell heavily. Our dear, good grandpa "went home" in the purple shadows of a still summer evening.
He had never seen the baby, but when suffering so terribly with the near approach of death ere the love-light faded from his eyes, he spoke of baby and its mother and longed to see them.
Yes, Grandpa was gone, and we missed him sadly, but we had known that the "Reaper is near to the longstanding corn;" we knew he was ready to go. And so we clasped the sweet lily-bud closer to our hearts and thanked Him "Who doeth all things well" for our precious treasure, for the blessings which were yet ours.
Few days and months had passed ere she had entwined herself into our very lives. How many thoughtful hours were spent with her, watching the sweet, calm baby face smiling in refreshing sleep, noting the beauty of snowy hands and the curve of the long-fringed eyelids, bending over to kiss the rosy mouth, singing in the quiet twilight and folding the cover gently about the tiny form.
What name could be beautiful enough for this angel-child? Ah, how many, many names were thought of, discussed and dropped ere we found a fitting one for her, and then it was not quite pretty enough; but oh, how sweet it sounded when pronounced by her tiny lips!
(More of the lament followed but is now lost.)
As another type of tribute, Lura's older brother Emerson, who was 13 when Lura died, in time would name his second child, born Dec. 16, 1902, Lura.
On Sept. 17, 1882, when Lura was one year old, her mother wrote to Lura's older sister, Luella ("Loie"): Lura looks as sweet as two weeks ago when you were here. [Small scrawl.] There, she has written her letter to Loie. She wears the same dress she wore two weeks ago and the new pink apron I made for her last week. She has been trying to sew on the machine. (See photo.)
Lura died four months later, at one year and five months. Luella, not yet 18 when Lura died, later penned this poem about her:
Our Lura
“A little child shall lead them”
Sweet, serious eyes so calm and bright,
So full of soft and tender light,
And childlike face so pure and fair
Set in its frame of shining hair;
White hands I have so often kissed,
So fondly loved, so greatly missed.
From “gates ajar” that form I see,
Transfigured, shine and beckon me.
We own the strength of that dear hand
To lead us to the Better Land.
Luella also wrote the following lament concerning her sister:
Her Birthday
Only two years ago! And yet in those short months there has been woven in the web of my life many threads of "crimson pain" and "violet grief." Yes, and shining threads of love, "joy's gold," and "fair between, hope's shifting lines of emerald green."
Two years since the bright August morning when the arrowy beams of sunlight chased the darkness from hill and vale, drank the few drops of dew which sparkled by the roadside and crisped the tender grass in the meadows, two years since I first knelt by her side.
Just a pure, sweet lily-bud then; but in the days which swiftly passed on and on into eternity she blossomed into a perfect flower.
Why was it that countless tears poured over my face as I gazed for the first time on the silken rings of hair and tiny hand, pressed the first kiss on that sinless forehead and gave her a warm welcome to my heart?
I was thinking of her life; could I always smooth the rough places for her? Ah! I little thought she would so soon go to the bright mansions, leaving such sad and lonely hearts to wait.
Only a few days and the shadows gathered over our little home; even in our new-found joy the blow fell heavily. Our dear, good grandpa "went home" in the purple shadows of a still summer evening.
He had never seen the baby, but when suffering so terribly with the near approach of death ere the love-light faded from his eyes, he spoke of baby and its mother and longed to see them.
Yes, Grandpa was gone, and we missed him sadly, but we had known that the "Reaper is near to the longstanding corn;" we knew he was ready to go. And so we clasped the sweet lily-bud closer to our hearts and thanked Him "Who doeth all things well" for our precious treasure, for the blessings which were yet ours.
Few days and months had passed ere she had entwined herself into our very lives. How many thoughtful hours were spent with her, watching the sweet, calm baby face smiling in refreshing sleep, noting the beauty of snowy hands and the curve of the long-fringed eyelids, bending over to kiss the rosy mouth, singing in the quiet twilight and folding the cover gently about the tiny form.
What name could be beautiful enough for this angel-child? Ah, how many, many names were thought of, discussed and dropped ere we found a fitting one for her, and then it was not quite pretty enough; but oh, how sweet it sounded when pronounced by her tiny lips!
(More of the lament followed but is now lost.)
As another type of tribute, Lura's older brother Emerson, who was 13 when Lura died, in time would name his second child, born Dec. 16, 1902, Lura.
Inscription
The gravestone has a carving of a lily. See Luella's reference above describing Lura as a "lily-bud" blossoming "into a perfect flower."
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