Printed in the Times Post, Houston, Mississippi dated January 7 1932
In Loving Memory of Little Bobby Couch
On Thursday night, December the tenth, while everything was quiet and still, the death angel made its way into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kirby Couch and claimed the sweet spirit of dear little Bobby. He was 5 years, 9 months and 15 days old.
Dear little Bobby, how we miss you, none but God will ever know; how the sounds of your little footsteps follow us wherever we go.
Why, oh why, did God see fit to take you? When we wanted to keep you so. All the world seems drooped with mourning since you had to go.
Every nook and every corner seems to represent your face. Bobby dear little Bobby, no one else can ever fill your place.
How the sounds of your little voice, and the smile of your dear face, seems to linger in our memory, every minute and every place.
Dear little Bobby, how you had to suffer, no one will ever know. But you were such a brave little soldier, "Sister Rube" never thought you'd have to go.
Just at four o'clock that afternoon when I left you, you were smiling that sweet smile that always lingered on your face. Just five hours later they came and called me and said "We are afraid Bobby is dying." Just six short words were spoken, but nothing could have been more severe.
Hush! Did I get the right meaning? Could God take one we loved so dear? How I hoped they were mistaken. But my hopes were all in vain. When I reached your bedside your voice was hushed for good. Oh, how hard to stand beside you and know that death had gained the race. And on tomorrow they would lay you in the silent grave.
Bobby, when your little grave I visit, it seems more than I can bare, to think that your little form is lying there, so near, yet so far away. How it fills my heart with sorrow, and my eyes with tears—yet I sometimes think I hear you whisper—Please don't you worry for I am sleeping, sweetly sleeping, and free from every care.
When each day is finished and as night comes on, when the stars and moon begin to rise, each little star seems to wink and say "Can't you see that heaven is made brighter since little Bobby is here?"
How we hope that we can meet you in that world beyond the sky. In that world where here is no sorrow, and loved ones never die.
Brother and Lillian, let's not weep and despair. Bobbie, we know, is in Heaven. He is in wonderful care. Let us not think of him as cold beneath the grasses not closed, walled within the tomb. Rather in our Father's mansion, living in another room. Let us not doubt our Father's mercy. Let us not think of death as doom. But let us think of Bobby as being happy, waiting in another room.
Ruby Hollingsworth
In Loving Memory of Little Bobby Couch
On Thursday night, December the tenth, while everything was quiet and still, the death angel made its way into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kirby Couch and claimed the sweet spirit of dear little Bobby. He was 5 years, 9 months and 15 days old.
Dear little Bobby, how we miss you, none but God will ever know; how the sounds of your little footsteps follow us wherever we go.
Why, oh why, did God see fit to take you? When we wanted to keep you so. All the world seems drooped with mourning since you had to go.
Every nook and every corner seems to represent your face. Bobby dear little Bobby, no one else can ever fill your place.
How the sounds of your little voice, and the smile of your dear face, seems to linger in our memory, every minute and every place.
Dear little Bobby, how you had to suffer, no one will ever know. But you were such a brave little soldier, "Sister Rube" never thought you'd have to go.
Just at four o'clock that afternoon when I left you, you were smiling that sweet smile that always lingered on your face. Just five hours later they came and called me and said "We are afraid Bobby is dying." Just six short words were spoken, but nothing could have been more severe.
Hush! Did I get the right meaning? Could God take one we loved so dear? How I hoped they were mistaken. But my hopes were all in vain. When I reached your bedside your voice was hushed for good. Oh, how hard to stand beside you and know that death had gained the race. And on tomorrow they would lay you in the silent grave.
Bobby, when your little grave I visit, it seems more than I can bare, to think that your little form is lying there, so near, yet so far away. How it fills my heart with sorrow, and my eyes with tears—yet I sometimes think I hear you whisper—Please don't you worry for I am sleeping, sweetly sleeping, and free from every care.
When each day is finished and as night comes on, when the stars and moon begin to rise, each little star seems to wink and say "Can't you see that heaven is made brighter since little Bobby is here?"
How we hope that we can meet you in that world beyond the sky. In that world where here is no sorrow, and loved ones never die.
Brother and Lillian, let's not weep and despair. Bobbie, we know, is in Heaven. He is in wonderful care. Let us not think of him as cold beneath the grasses not closed, walled within the tomb. Rather in our Father's mansion, living in another room. Let us not doubt our Father's mercy. Let us not think of death as doom. But let us think of Bobby as being happy, waiting in another room.
Ruby Hollingsworth
Printed in the Times Post, Houston, Mississippi dated January 7 1932
In Loving Memory of Little Bobby Couch
On Thursday night, December the tenth, while everything was quiet and still, the death angel made its way into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kirby Couch and claimed the sweet spirit of dear little Bobby. He was 5 years, 9 months and 15 days old.
Dear little Bobby, how we miss you, none but God will ever know; how the sounds of your little footsteps follow us wherever we go.
Why, oh why, did God see fit to take you? When we wanted to keep you so. All the world seems drooped with mourning since you had to go.
Every nook and every corner seems to represent your face. Bobby dear little Bobby, no one else can ever fill your place.
How the sounds of your little voice, and the smile of your dear face, seems to linger in our memory, every minute and every place.
Dear little Bobby, how you had to suffer, no one will ever know. But you were such a brave little soldier, "Sister Rube" never thought you'd have to go.
Just at four o'clock that afternoon when I left you, you were smiling that sweet smile that always lingered on your face. Just five hours later they came and called me and said "We are afraid Bobby is dying." Just six short words were spoken, but nothing could have been more severe.
Hush! Did I get the right meaning? Could God take one we loved so dear? How I hoped they were mistaken. But my hopes were all in vain. When I reached your bedside your voice was hushed for good. Oh, how hard to stand beside you and know that death had gained the race. And on tomorrow they would lay you in the silent grave.
Bobby, when your little grave I visit, it seems more than I can bare, to think that your little form is lying there, so near, yet so far away. How it fills my heart with sorrow, and my eyes with tears—yet I sometimes think I hear you whisper—Please don't you worry for I am sleeping, sweetly sleeping, and free from every care.
When each day is finished and as night comes on, when the stars and moon begin to rise, each little star seems to wink and say "Can't you see that heaven is made brighter since little Bobby is here?"
How we hope that we can meet you in that world beyond the sky. In that world where here is no sorrow, and loved ones never die.
Brother and Lillian, let's not weep and despair. Bobbie, we know, is in Heaven. He is in wonderful care. Let us not think of him as cold beneath the grasses not closed, walled within the tomb. Rather in our Father's mansion, living in another room. Let us not doubt our Father's mercy. Let us not think of death as doom. But let us think of Bobby as being happy, waiting in another room.
Ruby Hollingsworth
In Loving Memory of Little Bobby Couch
On Thursday night, December the tenth, while everything was quiet and still, the death angel made its way into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Kirby Couch and claimed the sweet spirit of dear little Bobby. He was 5 years, 9 months and 15 days old.
Dear little Bobby, how we miss you, none but God will ever know; how the sounds of your little footsteps follow us wherever we go.
Why, oh why, did God see fit to take you? When we wanted to keep you so. All the world seems drooped with mourning since you had to go.
Every nook and every corner seems to represent your face. Bobby dear little Bobby, no one else can ever fill your place.
How the sounds of your little voice, and the smile of your dear face, seems to linger in our memory, every minute and every place.
Dear little Bobby, how you had to suffer, no one will ever know. But you were such a brave little soldier, "Sister Rube" never thought you'd have to go.
Just at four o'clock that afternoon when I left you, you were smiling that sweet smile that always lingered on your face. Just five hours later they came and called me and said "We are afraid Bobby is dying." Just six short words were spoken, but nothing could have been more severe.
Hush! Did I get the right meaning? Could God take one we loved so dear? How I hoped they were mistaken. But my hopes were all in vain. When I reached your bedside your voice was hushed for good. Oh, how hard to stand beside you and know that death had gained the race. And on tomorrow they would lay you in the silent grave.
Bobby, when your little grave I visit, it seems more than I can bare, to think that your little form is lying there, so near, yet so far away. How it fills my heart with sorrow, and my eyes with tears—yet I sometimes think I hear you whisper—Please don't you worry for I am sleeping, sweetly sleeping, and free from every care.
When each day is finished and as night comes on, when the stars and moon begin to rise, each little star seems to wink and say "Can't you see that heaven is made brighter since little Bobby is here?"
How we hope that we can meet you in that world beyond the sky. In that world where here is no sorrow, and loved ones never die.
Brother and Lillian, let's not weep and despair. Bobbie, we know, is in Heaven. He is in wonderful care. Let us not think of him as cold beneath the grasses not closed, walled within the tomb. Rather in our Father's mansion, living in another room. Let us not doubt our Father's mercy. Let us not think of death as doom. But let us think of Bobby as being happy, waiting in another room.
Ruby Hollingsworth
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