Mrs. Anna Wikle

The Cartersville Express
Cartersville, Georgia
July 11, 1878, Page 3
Transcribed by:  

DIED. – In this place, on the morning of the 28th ult., at the residence of her son, Jesse R. Wikle, after a painful and protracted illness, Mrs. ANNA WIKLE, in the 83d year of her age.


August 15, 1878
Page 3.


Mrs. ANNA WIKLE, widow of Henry Wikle, died at her son’s, Judge J. R. Wikle, in Cartersville, Ga., June 28th, 1878.  She was born December 18th, 1795, in South Carolina.

Married July 27th 1815.  Subsequently settled in Gilmer county, Georgia, 1837.  Lived near the writer about thirty years.  Her pious and devoted husband died in great peace in 1844.

There like Anna of old, she has lived in the loneliness of widowhood for many long years, and like her illustrious prototype, she has lived a life of devotion to God.  She was a member of the M. E. Church for about sixty years.  Her seat was never vacant in the house of God, unless providentially hindered.  She was a Methodist of the old type, delighting in class meeting and often prayed in public.

In those good old Hallelujah times I have seen her walk the aisle shouting and exhorting sinners to come to Christ.  At camp meeting she was a power.

Blessed with twelve children, their salvation lay near her heart.  She dedicated them early in baptism, and then by more than a thousand prayers, endeared them to her covenant keeping God.  Though she never lost a child and it seems a remarkable providence that so large a circle is unbroken.  Yet, she was always found at the bed-side of the sick—with me has watched through the long vigils of the night, when my home was darkened by affliction.  To me she was a mother indeed, next to the one that bore me, and I have, a second time, a feeling of bereavement and orphanage.  It is not often we chronicle the life and death of such an humble saint of God.

She has left the world better, because she lived in it so long.  Her works follow her as the harvest the retreating Nile—as the beams of the setting sun lingering upon the cloud.  Her name is a household word where she has lived, and the death of such a one is a calamity, a strong pillar of the church crumbles—a bright star goes out of the firmament of God’s temple; and the world is poorer for there is less of piety and devotion.

For some days before her death she was in a stupor, but no evidence was needed of her interest in the Redeemer.  Her life was a living testimony.

She sleeps by the side of her husband. Their happy spirits are wedded in deathless union, and they watch together at the cherub guarded gate to welcome their children home.  To them she has left a legacy better than gold.  Her monument is in their hearts, and they will rise up and call her blessed.

B. B. Quillian.


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