Will Thomas Word

 
The Free Press Newspaper
Cartersville, Georgia

July 20, 1882, Page 3

 
Transcribed and submitted by: 
 

On the Death of Little Will Thomas Word.

Dear little Will Thomas is gone, the bright and Beautiful Death came in the form of an angel and bore his spirit back to God who gave it.  The sound of his merry prattling voice will never again be heard.  But God takes those he loves best and transplants them in his beautiful home of the blest.  These reflections and many more like them are common to all afflicted mothers:
Little lost darling, come back to me;
Lie in my arms as used you to do;
Here is the place where your head should be;
Here is the bosom waiting for you.

You sleep in the churchyard all alone,
No one to watch by your narrow bed;
The wind o’er your tender body blown,
And night-dews dipped on your baby head.

Heaven cannot need you so much as I;
Legion of cherubs it had before;
Baby, my baby, why did you die?
Come to your mother, my own, once more.

Ah! That indeed is the heart-cry of the mother, no matter what her religion, teacher, or true friends murmur in her ears, she will never cease to mourn her loved and lost one, but amid the dreary void of all pleasures and the softening of declining age, she will look beyond the stars and thank God that he was kinder than she thought, and took her innocent little child to heaven.  Weep, not, bereaved parents, for your darling boy; he is now an angel, bright and beautiful, with thousands of angels singing praises to God on high.  Fond parents and grandparents, uncles and aunties, we do deeply sympathize with you in this your hour of great affliction, none but God can sustain you.  He was taken when not a sin stained his soul, nor a cloud shadowed his fair brow.

Then weeping parents cease to repine,
Your darling, Will Thomas, is no longer thine.
He is even now singing a song of love,
With a choir of angels who dwell above.
He will never more suffer the evils of earth,
Which are allotted to man even from his birth.
His soul is never destined to die,
But to float a sweet seraph in the sky.

--By a Loving Relative.

 

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