Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A Poem about Phoebe Dockstader when she died


In the town of Mohawk, April 4th 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.


Phoebe  Dockstader  was the Grandmother  of Marietta Lynk Thomas.
Marietta’s son was my Maternal Grandfather, Wesley Lynk Thomas.

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