Death of Mrs. Jeannie Ione Garwood

 
The Courant American Newspaper
Cartersville, Georgia

April 28, 1887 Page 3:

 
Transcribed and submitted by: 
 

In Memoriam.

Mrs. Jeannie Ione Garwood, wife of Robt. H. Garwood, Esq., and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. A. Chunn, of Cassville, Ga., departed this life, at her home in Atlanta, on April 3d, 1887. She joined the Methodist church at Cassville when only nine years old, and when she died, in her 23rd year, was a member at Evans chapel in Atlanta. To a stranger, who never knew this dear young Christian – in her relations to home, the church and society –this narration would appear to be the story of many who die in youth, but to those of us who have watched her from childhood until her peacefully, patient, dying hours, this inscrutable Providence of God seems inexplicable and hard to bear. How our hearts miss her love and her presence! She was so dutiful to parents, brothers and sisters, so devoted to her husband, such a tender loving mother to the four little motherless children who mourn her loss; that anguished hearts cry out, “Oh, why was Jeannie taken when we need her so much?” “Always a blessing, why are we so bereft?” When infants die we feel that they are only transplanted to a world of infinite happiness, where the bud will expand under the tender care of the Creator. When the aged die God houses them in age and feebleness from the storms which beat upon their pathway, from the cradle to the grave, but when the young, the vigorous, the helpful and the willing ones are taken, the earth seems so poor, so barren, so wrong and so desolate without them. Father and mother, who were truly blessed in this sweet, amiable daughter, and the agonized husband whose bright little home has been so rudely despoiled, can rest their faith on God’s promises – but the tearful appeal of these motherless babes (one an infant of a few days), and the plaintive cry for “Mama,” who is gone forever, strikes our human sympathy, and our earth-bound natures cannot fathom, the mysterious dealings of God, with the creatures that He has made. In the midst of thick gloom we can only clasp His hand and cry, ‘Help, Father; the way is dark, gently lead us!”

“Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north winds breath, And stars to set, but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, death!”

The dying saint, so young in years, won a victory over pain, the anguish of parting and the grave itself. As the shadows settled the father clasped her hand and asked: “Do you know, darling, that you are dying?” Without a murmur or a sigh she answered, “Yes, papa.” As the sands of life were dropping even to the very last, he suppressed the struggling grief to ask again, “Your papa wants to know if his darling child is going to heaven?” A smile of ineffable beauty passed over her features as she replied without complaint or hesitation, “Yes, papa.” To make assurance doubly sure, to those she loved so tenderly, she repeated, “Yes, papa.” True, noble, blameless, patient Christian thy sufferings are past and we will keep thy memory green in our heart of hearts. May we meet in heaven!

Jennie has gone to the mansions prepared,
In her presence forever to sit down,
For he will that his honor be shared
With the glorified gems of his crown.

Shall we call her, an angel away,
From that land where naught vicious can taint?
Ah! No, she is far higher, we say,
She is one of the blood bought, a saint.

Her loveliness lives, though she’s gone;
Who could know her and not shed a tear?
Ah! That little I’ve known
I’ve learned to love and serve.

Dear sorrowing ones, would I could bind
Thy poor bleeding hearts so bereaved;
Not to feel for thee, would be unkind;
For thy sorrow alone I am grieved.

In thy hearts, her dear name is enshrined;
Ah, its mention thy pulses shall thrill –
For her equal, thou never will find,
Or who can the vacancy fill?

But our Savior’s a healer indeed;
Not a sigh, nor a pang but he knows;
Look to him and the greater thy need,
The greater the grace he bestows.

But hopes makes thy sorrowing sweet,
Since that loved one, hath entered her rest,
For the parted in Jesus shall meet,
On the peaceful shores of the blest.
---A Friend.

 

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