In Memoriam by M. W. Howard

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 28, 1871

In Memoriam.

By M. W. Howard

“THERE are deaths that come upon us, with a sense of a completed harmony; deaths that end life, as sunset ends the day; deaths when the work is done, when the story is all told, when the long, full day's travel is finished. Patiently as the years passed, the appointed duty is fulfilled, the prescribed burden borne. And now at last, all finished, death comes to summon the laborer to his rest.”

Long and silently I mused, as I read the above. A tender chord in my own heart, vibrated the response, Yes!; and these are deaths to thank God for, deaths that end a long and fruitful life, with a perfect close.

Then I recalled the sudden dispatch, which hastened me to my mother’s bedside; where in quiet sadness I sat two nights and the intervening day, ere that life, which had been so dear to me, went out forever. I reviewed the scene, when by the help of kind hands, that form was prepared for its long rest; remembered making ready the habiliments for burial, and enrobing the body for the grave; for God had folded her hands in everlasting rest; and,

“Through the long and dreamless night, She’ll sleep till morning; then arise, And angel guard, on pinions bright, Shall safely bear her to the skies.”

Turning then to other duties, how comforting to find how faithfully and well was all her work completed. It is only now and then, when the life-work drops from busy hands, that there can come unbidden to the heart, a sense of completeness. Here it was so. But mingled therewith was an accusing consciousness, that too much had been performed by her. Is it always thus, when the mother is gone? the mother, who is so often untiring in assiduities, unflinching in self-imposed tasks, and shrinking not from tasks imposed by others, not even when the need of appreciation is withheld? And is so cheap a meed ever withheld? What is the experience of such as voluntarily assume the service of others, in this unsatisfying, ungrateful world? I felt these questionings swell and surge through my inmost soul, proving—

. . . . “’Tis true, the heart can feel What words can never, never tell.”

But the meed is not always withheld; for the unsought testimony of one who had known her long and well, was, that were herself required to accomplish the work performed by her who was gone, she must needs live an hundred years! Her numerous children were reared, and had long been in homes of their own; but her kind ministrations had never ceased. In her department was found no unfinished work, no sewing begun, but laid aside incomplete, as the last sickness came on; but the finished garments were there, bearing marks of recent completion, garments anticipating the coming wants of him for whom it was her duty to care.

And I thought—just as of old, her work even with her time; aye, ahead of her time. Dead, yet speaking”; and I recalled words of hers, familiar in childhood, with which she used to animate me for my work: “Never let your work drive you; always drive your work, and then it will be easy.” Herein, I am confident, lay the secret of her executive ability; and though one might often hear her say that “work was driving,” yet I am sure that she always retained the helm.

How fitting, then, that a rest should come—a rest discharging from all the concerns of this life, a rest that received the benedictions of the poor and needy—a rest for which to thank God, believing her works shall follow, and that her reward is sure. M. W. HOWARD.

Moline, N. Y., Jan., 1871.