A Poem about Phoebe Dockstader when she died

                            DIED

In the town of Mohawk, April 4^th 1872

Phoebe Dockstater, aged 83 years and 8 Months

The lengthened, and useful, and beautiful years,

Of our Mother are now fled, and a fountain of tears

We feigh would now shed, did we not surely know,

That the robe that she wears is washed whiter than snow:

And the crown that’s adorning her slight-silvered hair.

Was made for the purest of angels to wear.

She has crossed the still waters, so dark and so deep,

She has found such sweet rest, such a long quiet sleep:

“Where no trouble assail,” where no sorrow can come,

Where the angels’ white fingers, the golden harps thrum;

And the broad “victor palm” which she bears in her hand,

Is a badge of the holy in god’s blessed land.

Her life was too pure for the  pencil to trace,

Her goodness of heart might be read in her face;

And when her life’s sunshine was sprinkled by tears,

She clung to the Cross, and her faith banished fears,

For well did she know that each trial she bore;

But placed in her deathless crown one jewel more.

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Phoebe  Dockstader  was the Grandmother  of Marietta Lynk Thomas.

Marietta’s son was my Maternal Grandfather, Wesley Lynk Thomas.