Obituary Notices by Wm. C. Gage; Uriah Smith

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 4, 1875

Obituary Notices.

By Wm. C. Gage; Uriah Smith

“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth.”

DIED, in West Wilton, N. H., Feb. 8, 1875, of pneumonia, sister Rebekah Smith; aged 80 years and four months. Sister Smith was the mother of the editor of the Review, and of Annie R. Smith, whose name will be remembered by the older friends of the cause in connection with her writings and labors in the interests of the work in its earlier days.

Sister S. was an ardent lover of the present truth, having been connected with it many years, and was possessed of a deep and valuable experience in the things of God. Her poetic and other contributions to the Review have ever breathed a spirit of love for God’s commandments, and her life was in accordance therewith. Her last illness was brief and comparatively free from pain. Just one week previous to her own burial she attended the funeral of a friend, and on her return home contracted a violent cold, from which she never recovered. Her last hours were calm and peaceful, and she fell asleep in hope of a blessed resurrection. The funeral was held in the Baptist meeting-house, and a discourse was given by the writer on the Christian’s hope in affliction. Wm. C. Gage.

I esteem it a privilege to add a word to the foregoing notice of my mother’s death. Henceforth the hallowed associations that cluster around the name of mother are not to us a living possession, but a buried treasure. But the treasure is in safe keeping, and will soon be restored to us again crowned with the additional glory of immortality. The earliest recollections we have of mother, were her efforts to interest her children (my sister, now sleeping as noticed above, two brothers still living, and myself) in the Bible as the word of God. And we have never known her other than as an active, earnest worker in the Lord’s service. Possessed of fervent charity and unbounded philanthropy, all whose circumstances made them subjects for human sympathy ever found in her an unfailing friend; and in her, many, besides her own children, have lost a mother, who will rise up and call her blessed.

“Mother is dead!” Such the brief words the telegraph said. Starting a thousand miles away, Flashing on swift as the light of day, Bearing their burden of sadness and grief, Oh! what a burden of words so brief! Over the throbbing wires they sped— “Mother is dead!”

“Mother is dead!” What words e’er could be written or said, Stirring more deeply the filial breast, Wakening memories so pure and blest, Calling up tokens of love she has given, Next to that of our Father in Heaven. Memory’s blessings encircle her head, While she is dead.

Mother is dead; But with the righteous she makes her bed. Hope lingers radiant over her grave; For she was His who is mighty to save. Waiting till Heaven should bring her reward, Well has she kept the dear faith of her Lord. Death gained small victory when it was said, “Mother is dead.”

Mother is dead; But she is safe with our Conquering Head. Registered for the life to come, Short will her slumber be in the tomb. Soon will the darkness all flee away, In the bright light of an endless day. Then nevermore will the sad words be said, “Mother is dead.”

U. Smith.