Butts County GaArchives Obituaries.....:Mary Saunders August 1889
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Don Bankston http://www.genrecords.net/emailregistry/vols/00024.html#0005864 December 25, 2003, 10:11 pm

Middle Ga ARgus
Mary Saunders - Memorium

Death is at all times sad, and under all circumstances.  The putting away in 
the silence of the tomb of a loved form, the stilling of a heart whose every 
pulsation beat in unison with our own, the silencing, with the cold seal of 
death, of the lips which were wont continually to speak to us in loving words 
of endearment, is inexpressibly sad.  But separation and bleeding hearts are 
inevitable in this life, but language can never fathom the depth of a family’s 
anguish when they first realize that Mother is dead.  The loving lips are mute, 
the beaming eye is lustless, and the soft, tender hands will cling to us no 
more forever.  The garments she wore and pillow, upon which her head reposed 
tenantless and neglected, proclaims that Mother is no longer here, and the 
hearts of the family are restless with despair.  They cannot feel that what 
seems to us but sad funeral tapers

No. Children, Mother is not dead – she is only a visitor, a guest who has left 
for a healthier, happier home, “in the summer land of song” – gone to receive 
the fostering care of a parent yet more tender and loving than she was; gone to 
register another arrival on the lamb’s book of life.   Now would you feign have 
Mother reign her crown, give back her harp, squander her immortal heritage and 
like a prodigal, leave the Father’s house and come back to be fed on the husk 
and endure the pains and cares which are inevitable in this bleak and desolate 
existence?  Ah, no; for while the dust weeps the soul has cause for joy – joy 
that reaches and expands beyond expression, for Mother has found refuge from 
danger, a shelter from the storm and she is now clothed in a robe which cost 
the wealth of Heaven to buy.  You, too, are passing away close behind; almost 
in calling distance of your angel Mother.  That Mother is as an anchor lifted 
from earth to moor you to the skies.  Already you feel that the clouds which 
bind you here are loosening and unseen hands beckon you from the distant shore, 
and when your time comes Mother will see you coming, her harp will fall, her 
crown lie dropped and forgotten, as she bends forward and reaches her arms 
towards you, and sing with Heaven’s sweetest sweetness, “Children, dear 
children, come Home to me now.”

Middle Ga Argus – Week of August 20, 1889


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