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Forrest & Hazel Brown
Forrest & Hazel Brown
Submitted by: Debby Cook
|The Mulhall Enterprise|
|Friday, April 21, 1899|
On Friday, March 31, 1899, and on Tuesday, April 4, 1899, little Hazel and Forrest, beloved children of Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard Brown, passed from the scene of the living to the great beyond. Death, the grim tyrant and great destroyer, with unrelenting fervor plies his sickle, keen and leveling in stately prince or tender immaturity-the great, the small, the old, the young alike. Youth in its beauty, age in its weakness. We must all answer and obey the summons. Perchance it may the tender flowers just blooming upon nature's fair fields.
It has been well and beautifully said "that is must be sweet in childhood to yield the spirit back to its maker, ere the feet have trodden the thorny pathways of sin," and that "the good die young." These sweet fair infant buds not yet matured on earth, yet ever fit for heaven. These little ones who have been rocked in the cradle of the glad, budding spring of life, and trilled to sleep amid life's gushing melodies, are dead. Their bright laughing eyes are closed in death. Their childish prattle hushed. Their forms cold and motionless, are forever lost from view. Hidden in the dark portals of the silent tomb. But their precious souls have winged their flight into the far and great beyond to the celestial abode, the eternal firmament, the resplendent realms of life and light to the God who gave them. They have been beckoned to a brighter chime, where they are singing sweet music of the angels.
It would be superfluous to eulogize the disposition of a little child, pure in spirit as the newly fallen snow from heaven; sweet in disposition as the breath of a new blown rose. Kind and gentle as the evening sephyrs, kissing the violets' cheeks. The life of a little child is but a beam of sunlight fleeting as a shadow. Brief as a midsummers night's dream. Short as our own terrestrial happiness. And no one can replace, when once lost, a mother's fond loving cares. How my heart aches with sympathy for the bereaved parents.
When death's shadow my bosom encloned,
When I shrink from the thought of the coffin and shroud;
May hope like the rainbow my spirit enfold
In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold.
Written by Mrs. J.F. Holder.
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