More of Mary M Jones

I want to keep on going on down history road so stay with me as I want to go back where I left off. The dew of heaven was not more kind to the withering grass than was her presence to the parched and wearied heart her home like a fairy region where all the harsh and stormy passions of the world were silenced furnished a resting place to the soul all that we know and conceive of hospitality was there dispensed with a heart whose philanthropy knew no bounds and a hand open as day to melting charity. But she is gone her voice will never again welcome the coming guest nor her hand relieve the sufferings of the needy the brightest and mildest star in our moral firmament has set forever. I stood beside her aged and exhausted from a few hours after the spirit was not there how different the attitude from that in which I had recently before observed it then moving majestically along the current of life attended by all its graces and dispensing all its blessings and now in cold obstruction. I never beheld a face so intelligent and serene in death it wore to the last those felicitous traits of expression which illumined it when living. On life itself she was so still and fair that death with gentler aspect withered there. As if she scarcely felt but feigned a sleep. Boy oh boy what joy this is to me just to be able to put this down for other researchers out there. I would like to say to you that are new at this don't ever stop for you must keep this going for your family. Every day I have to thank God for He sure has stood by me down through the years. I started research for my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. Still going on with this we left off right here. And made almost mockery yet to weep. He who hath him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled. The first dark day of nothingness. The last of danger and distress. Before decay's effacing fingers. Have swept the lines where beauty lingers. And marked the mild angelic air. The Rapture of repose that's there. And fixed yet tender traits that streak. The languor of the placid cheek. Stick with me as we must keep going with this. Some moments ay one treacherous hour. He still might doubt the tyrant's power. So fair so calm so softly sealed. The first last look by death revealed. A gilded halo hovering round decay. The farewell beam of felling past away. I gazed upon that aspect without tears. For I read in its attitude moral of her life and almost fancied that I still communed with an animated being but for the sad and shrouded eye I had yet doubted whether her spirit had flown. Oh o'er the eye death most exerts his might. And hurls the spirit from her throne of light. Sainted spirit fare thee well- there have been tears and bursting hearts for thee and mind though riven with its own affiction hath bled and would have died for thee. Farewell A word that must be and hath been. A sound which makes us linger yet farewell. Willie Jones picture I put on here Mary M. Jones husband.