Published in the Piscataquis (ME) Observer 20 Jun 1878 p2: "IN MEMORIAM---Died in Monson, at the residence of her son, America B. Norton, April 22d, Mrs. Martha Norton, formerly of Livermore, aged 81 years.
Those who knew grandma well, must feel that she merits at our hands something more than a brief record of her death.
Bereft of a mother's tender care, at an early age she was made to feel deeply the cold charities of the world. She soon learned to place her trust in an ever-present Father, and through a long and checkered life that faith never failed her. At first she thought that Father's love was limited to a favored few, but gradually it broadened until she felt that God's love, like her own, embraced the whole human family, and there she found peace. Humble, unpretending, deeming herself one of the least of God's children, yet ever acknowledging his tender care, she was revered by all who were so favored as to become acquainted with her. 'None knew her but to love her, none named her but to praise,' can truly be said of her.
In middle life her youngest , a beloved daughter of nineteen died on consumption. Stricken deeply, she bowed submissive to the divine will; but thenceforth she lived in two worlds, and while performing every duty faithfully, looked [illegible] land where parting is unknown.
A few years passed and her husband was taken from her by drowning. Her head bent lower, her form became more bowed, but no murmur ever escaped her lips. 'My Father knows what is best for us; it is all good, although we may not be able to see it now, we shall sometime,' she would say.
With the coming of the birds and flowers she was permitted to leave for the longed-for home. 'Don't dress me up for the grave,' she had often said, 'it is the place for the tired form to rest; let my last garments signify that my body is at rest.'
The only son and daughter (Mrs. J. L. Hathaway) and grandchildren, will miss her sadly, but scarcely more than the large circle of friends who ever felt the blessing of her presence as a benediction, but we all feel that our loss is her gain.
'I am willing to go or stay, just as God wills,' she said to a friend the day of her death. Peacefully and quietly she sank to sleep at the close of a spring day, to awaken as we trust in the land of [unending?] verdure.
'Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love, between
Our human hearts and thee.' M. S. C."
Those who knew grandma well, must feel that she merits at our hands something more than a brief record of her death.
Bereft of a mother's tender care, at an early age she was made to feel deeply the cold charities of the world. She soon learned to place her trust in an ever-present Father, and through a long and checkered life that faith never failed her. At first she thought that Father's love was limited to a favored few, but gradually it broadened until she felt that God's love, like her own, embraced the whole human family, and there she found peace. Humble, unpretending, deeming herself one of the least of God's children, yet ever acknowledging his tender care, she was revered by all who were so favored as to become acquainted with her. 'None knew her but to love her, none named her but to praise,' can truly be said of her.
In middle life her youngest , a beloved daughter of nineteen died on consumption. Stricken deeply, she bowed submissive to the divine will; but thenceforth she lived in two worlds, and while performing every duty faithfully, looked [illegible] land where parting is unknown.
A few years passed and her husband was taken from her by drowning. Her head bent lower, her form became more bowed, but no murmur ever escaped her lips. 'My Father knows what is best for us; it is all good, although we may not be able to see it now, we shall sometime,' she would say.
With the coming of the birds and flowers she was permitted to leave for the longed-for home. 'Don't dress me up for the grave,' she had often said, 'it is the place for the tired form to rest; let my last garments signify that my body is at rest.'
The only son and daughter (Mrs. J. L. Hathaway) and grandchildren, will miss her sadly, but scarcely more than the large circle of friends who ever felt the blessing of her presence as a benediction, but we all feel that our loss is her gain.
'I am willing to go or stay, just as God wills,' she said to a friend the day of her death. Peacefully and quietly she sank to sleep at the close of a spring day, to awaken as we trust in the land of [unending?] verdure.
'Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love, between
Our human hearts and thee.' M. S. C."
Published in the Piscataquis (ME) Observer 20 Jun 1878 p2: "IN MEMORIAM---Died in Monson, at the residence of her son, America B. Norton, April 22d, Mrs. Martha Norton, formerly of Livermore, aged 81 years.
Those who knew grandma well, must feel that she merits at our hands something more than a brief record of her death.
Bereft of a mother's tender care, at an early age she was made to feel deeply the cold charities of the world. She soon learned to place her trust in an ever-present Father, and through a long and checkered life that faith never failed her. At first she thought that Father's love was limited to a favored few, but gradually it broadened until she felt that God's love, like her own, embraced the whole human family, and there she found peace. Humble, unpretending, deeming herself one of the least of God's children, yet ever acknowledging his tender care, she was revered by all who were so favored as to become acquainted with her. 'None knew her but to love her, none named her but to praise,' can truly be said of her.
In middle life her youngest , a beloved daughter of nineteen died on consumption. Stricken deeply, she bowed submissive to the divine will; but thenceforth she lived in two worlds, and while performing every duty faithfully, looked [illegible] land where parting is unknown.
A few years passed and her husband was taken from her by drowning. Her head bent lower, her form became more bowed, but no murmur ever escaped her lips. 'My Father knows what is best for us; it is all good, although we may not be able to see it now, we shall sometime,' she would say.
With the coming of the birds and flowers she was permitted to leave for the longed-for home. 'Don't dress me up for the grave,' she had often said, 'it is the place for the tired form to rest; let my last garments signify that my body is at rest.'
The only son and daughter (Mrs. J. L. Hathaway) and grandchildren, will miss her sadly, but scarcely more than the large circle of friends who ever felt the blessing of her presence as a benediction, but we all feel that our loss is her gain.
'I am willing to go or stay, just as God wills,' she said to a friend the day of her death. Peacefully and quietly she sank to sleep at the close of a spring day, to awaken as we trust in the land of [unending?] verdure.
'Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love, between
Our human hearts and thee.' M. S. C."
Those who knew grandma well, must feel that she merits at our hands something more than a brief record of her death.
Bereft of a mother's tender care, at an early age she was made to feel deeply the cold charities of the world. She soon learned to place her trust in an ever-present Father, and through a long and checkered life that faith never failed her. At first she thought that Father's love was limited to a favored few, but gradually it broadened until she felt that God's love, like her own, embraced the whole human family, and there she found peace. Humble, unpretending, deeming herself one of the least of God's children, yet ever acknowledging his tender care, she was revered by all who were so favored as to become acquainted with her. 'None knew her but to love her, none named her but to praise,' can truly be said of her.
In middle life her youngest , a beloved daughter of nineteen died on consumption. Stricken deeply, she bowed submissive to the divine will; but thenceforth she lived in two worlds, and while performing every duty faithfully, looked [illegible] land where parting is unknown.
A few years passed and her husband was taken from her by drowning. Her head bent lower, her form became more bowed, but no murmur ever escaped her lips. 'My Father knows what is best for us; it is all good, although we may not be able to see it now, we shall sometime,' she would say.
With the coming of the birds and flowers she was permitted to leave for the longed-for home. 'Don't dress me up for the grave,' she had often said, 'it is the place for the tired form to rest; let my last garments signify that my body is at rest.'
The only son and daughter (Mrs. J. L. Hathaway) and grandchildren, will miss her sadly, but scarcely more than the large circle of friends who ever felt the blessing of her presence as a benediction, but we all feel that our loss is her gain.
'I am willing to go or stay, just as God wills,' she said to a friend the day of her death. Peacefully and quietly she sank to sleep at the close of a spring day, to awaken as we trust in the land of [unending?] verdure.
'Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love, between
Our human hearts and thee.' M. S. C."
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