Obit of Henry Metcalf - Butler Co., AL ----------------------------------------------------------------------- USGENWEB NOTICE: In keeping with the USGenWeb policy of providing free information on the Internet, this data may be used by non-commercial entities, as long as this message remains on all copied material. These electronic pages cannot be reproduced in any format for profit or other gain. Copying of the files within by non-commercial individuals and libraries is encouraged. ALGenWeb File Manager - Lygia Dawkins Cutts ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Contributed by Ed Godbold APR 1999 "From what newspaper this obit is from is unknown, probably The Greenville Advocate. This clipping was found in the belongings of Eleanor Erle Thagard Hulse who passed Juanuary 1999. A TRIBUTE OF LOVE To the Memory of Henry Metcalf, Who Was Born at Mt. Moriah, Wilcox Co. on the 30th of August 1866, and Died in Greenville, Ala. on the 29th of June 1885. "In the midst of life we are ib death." Aye! :we are in death." Even though the lips of beauty smile, the step of youth goes bounding by. the pulse of health beats high with earthly hopes and joy-bells ring aloud their glad glee-songs. Even while all the light trivial occurrences which make up the sum of human life join in the ceaseless cycle of human events and move onward in the everlasting march of time. Through it all is heard the low undercurrent of sorrow, and always the angel of death is brooding over us. Even in the rush and hurry and din of a busy Monday morn, he spread his shadowy wings and fluttered softly and darkly over a once happy home. 'Tis not always the yender ibfant, the aged [ilgrim, the suffering and sorrowing whom this sad-eyed Azrael gathers in his strong arms and bears away to the land of the great Hereafter. Young and brave hearts are oft-times palsied neath that touch which falls so silently yet so heavily. So it was that on that bright June morning the spirit of Henry Metcalf was guided to "that bourne from whence no traveller e'er returns." Nexyt August would have completed the nineteen sunshiney years that had beeb gathered in his sheaf of life. Untiring efforts of human love and human skill in vain essayed to prolong his days; but his prophectic soul breathed in the words which said, "Mother, I shall never get well --I've come home to die." After this, he repeated aloud the Lord's Prayer. 'Oh! Father, "Thy will be done"! Henry had drank sweetest draughts of life's elixer. Its youth, its buoyancy, its light- heartedness, its glowing health, its vigorous frame and bright aspirations were all his. More than a year ago he left the home of his happy boyhood and went to Montgomery to pursue his course in that field of labor which was his choice; and believing the honest and vigorous employment, which his young strength seemed to crave, the avenue to honor, wealth and con- tentment, he "did God's work with hands that were strong and willing, And wove in the web of life a bright and golden filling." He was moral, industrious, sober, steadfast and upright. Are not these the brightest jewels with which to crown his memory and illume the darknesswhich gathers in the "valley of shadows"? During his visit home last Easter, a kind ladyfriend had talked to him of his spiritual welfare--his obligation to gratify by confirmation, his baptismal vows. His answer was, "I intend to be confirmed when the Bishop comes next time. I think I am ready. I try to live right." Said his landlady in Montgomery, "Henry always spent his evenings at home--around the home fireside or in the home circle." Others who knew him there, said he had only the best of associates and he was always found, during business hours, at the post odf duty; -- and a heartbroken mother wailed over his dead form-- "Oh! Henry was always a good boy!" Ah! young men, you who still revel in the glad promise of life's springtime, whose bounding hopes stay not to whisper, "I may be next to go," let this brief insight into a brave, quiet, modest life be as a beacon unto you.Whatever may have been the slight errors and shortcomings of his early boyhood, his after years were full of a steadfast purpose and a true moral worth which gave promise of a noble manhood. And what truer, sweeter meed of praise could mingle with his funeral chime--like faithful sentinel, he was always "at the post of duty" and "Henry was always a good boy." On the last night of his life, in his suffering and delirium, he pleaded, "Oh, Papa take me home!" "yes, my darling boy, " was the soft answer,"you are going home tonight." And lo! the gloom of night passed away; and in the morning, a brave, manly young form lay still and cold in death. A ray of June sunshine crept shyly through the closed shutters as though to kiss "the brow of the early dead." A frail, tiny bird fluttered and trilled softly in its cage, and up there in that beautiful Heaven where sorrow and death never come, his freed spirit had joined an angel sister and brother waiting to welcome him home--for Henry had gone "home." He Had solved it --life's wonderful problem, The deepest, the strangest, the last; And into the school of the Angels, With the answer, forever had passed. God knew all about it, how noble, How gentle he was and how brave; How bright his possible future, Yet--put him to sleep int he grave. God knew all about those who love him, How bitter the trial must be, And right through it all, God is loving, And knows so much better than we. A Friend.