Name/Title
Cemetery, In Memoriam for Edith Lenore Jones and Catherine Sarah HookerDescription
The instantaneous death of little Sarah and Edie is one of the saddest and most heartrending accidents that Waupun has ever had to record. They had been promised an afternoon with Mrs. [Hanora] Dasey, who had worked in the families and who had always been fond of the little ones and had promised them a great treat playing along the shore of the river. Mrs. Dasey had also promised the mothers not to go near the railroad. They were left at Mrs. Dasey's at three o'clock in the afternoon. Mrs. Dasey took them across the railroad bridge to gather flowers and pebbles, and they were returning and were on the bridge when the 3:20 train came in sight. The engineer, when he first saw them, thought they were men and that they would get off the track, but, learning differently, whistled down brakes and attempted to stop the train. But it was too late. There were several cars of stock in the train and the air-brakes could not be used. There was but one brakeman on the train. But, notwithstanding these circumstances and the fact that the train was coming around a heavy curve and approaching a bridge and the city limits, where the law provides it shall not run faster than six miles an hour, yet, because the train was behind time, the care that would be required under ordinary circumstances was not used and the train came with such speed that it could not he stopped till it reached the depot.
As the train approached the little ones they tried to get off the track to one side, but Mrs. Dasey took them by the hands and tried to hurry across the bridge. At the nearer approach of the engine, however, Mrs. Dasey seemed to be paralyzed with fear and dropped dead or fainted away as the engine struck them. Death was instantaneous to all.
No one, when they witnessed the accident, knew who the two unfortunate children were, and when they were recognized the startling intelligence woke the deepest sympathy in every heart; and while some were doing all in their power for the little ones thus suddenly snatched away, others were trying to impart what aid and comfort they could to those unto whom this great sorrow was brought nearest home.
The funeral of little Sarah was at two o'clock and of Edie at four o'clock Thursday afternoon from their homes and their remains were interred in Forest Mound cemetery.
DIED.
At Waupun, Wis., Tuesday, Sept. 14th, 1886, Edith Lenore, daughter of Charles and Clara F. Jones, aged 5 years, 6 months, 15 days.
At Waupun, Wis., Tuesday, Sept. 14th, 1886, Catherine Sarah, daughter of C. E, and Josie L, Hooker, aged 4 years 11 months, 23 days.
They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in death were not parted.
God comfort them! Those
Aching hearts that, Rachel-like, are weeping
For their little ones because they are not.
Their cup is full; their bread is steeped in tears;
For Death's unpitying hand has borne away
All that made home a heaven. The sun, that rose
So brightly on their joyous path that morn,
Before it sank behind the western hills,
Looked on their pallid forms; those eyes, within
Whose starry depths a mother sat and smiled
The hours away, were closed; those little cheeks,
Like flakes of snow streaked o'er with apple bloom,
Were cold; a gloom had gathered round the home;
Two nests were empty and the song-birds hushed.
Those who had watched with so much joy
The cherished buds unfold, felt not, till they
Had passed away, how dear they were. They ask
Why was it so? and feel how much less keen
Had been the pang had it been theirs to kneel
Beside their dying beds, to hear their last
Low lispings and to catch that last sweet smile
Which sometimes lingers on the lips when life
Has fled. Such comfort was denied to them;
And now, how they will miss the velvet touch
Of those warm, playful fingers on their face,
The little tongues that talked so constantly,
The patter of their little feet across
The floor, and those bright, shiny curls that lay
Like threads of gold upon the pillow next Their own.
But yesterday, with those sweet pledges of
Their love about their homes, those mothers
[thought That none could be more blissfully content
Than they. They dreamed not then of griefs in [store
For them, and how our life's most pleasant hours
Are interwove with pain, and how its fair,
Bright tissue holds
Death's shadow 'mid Its golden braids.
There is no joy without Its clouds, no eye without its tears, and from
The shock of the o'ershadowing storm
No morrow's dawn's secure.
Through all the fret and change of years this grief
Will follow them, and as they look upon
The outward world, its varied scenes will be
But varied pain. Death's mildest laws
Are rigorous, nor is it wise for man
To murmur at his will. All things are ours,
And God fills up such measure as to Him
Seems best. The time will come when our own sun
Will set; the brief day of our work be done;
There'll be the folded hands and lips that do
Not breathe. We shall not always wander thus
And weep; those who have gone before have marked
The way, and beckon us to come, and though
We climb with step unfixed and slow, yet go
We must; and, if in child-like trust we lean
Upon the Everlasting Arm, all will be well.
Ye who are weeping now the loss of those
Whose transient life was as a dancing flame
Upon our path, a subtle perfume blown
From April flowers, mourn not as one without
A hope, nor think your only solace is to sit
Beside their grave like Desolation
On a ship-wrecked shore. The wound is deep,
But when your God applies the healing balm
The love and beauty of your child, as looked
At through the crystal of your tears, will seem
Diviner things. You'll think of them, not as
They only were amid their childish sports
Fair as a wave-rocked lily on a lake,
Sweet as a wind-rocked rose in summer time
But as your inward vision pictures them
In realms far worthier of their presence
Where reigns perpetual spring, where harps lean to
Their touch their golden strings and
Grief shakes hands
With Joy. They'll come to you in dreams and you
Will hear the invisible humming
Of their wing as't fans the sky into soft
Ripples of new life and love and spreads a
Sapphire calm around, to ease your troubled
Now.
The world is better for our tears,
But sorrow has its bounds, and when we mourn
The loss of friends and all that in their lives
Was dear to us, our only refuge is
A trust in God and in the wisdom of
His ways, however wrapt in mystery.
Then leave your treasures in His hand.
The grave Is but the darkened way that leads beneath
The shadow of His wings-your child's most sure
And trusted resting-place.
It is the fear of craven hearts that says
Our loves can die. Lean low your heads and you
Will hear a murmuring motion in the grain
As't grows; a flow in the ascending sap
That thrills the tender shoots as with delight;
And, at whatever point you deign to feel
Of nature's pulse, you'll find a voice that tells
You of another life.
The seed we drop Into the ground decays; and then e'er long
The spring-time comes, and merry May-winds kiss
And apple-blossoms laugh, and flowrets gem
The grass or filter in the morning sun
Or gladden in the early dew, with pink
And crimson in their fair young cheeks, and in
Their breath a dripping fragrance.
There is a sound of rythmic joy
In Nature's voice that tells us, though the last
Year's flowers may pass away the type lives on
And reappears with not a ray lost from
Its crown of light.
We only know in part;
We cannot pierce the veil; but with a faith
That God knows best, oh, let us calmly yield
Back unto Him the gifts He gave, nor doubt
That all these jarring notes will one day blend
Into a song of thankfulness; this strange
And tangled web of life be understood
And all its angles rounded into joy. J.Acquisition
Accession
2005.0020Source or Donor
Collection found in Museum OfficeAcquisition Method
Found in Collection
