OBITUARY:  Mrs. Lou Grambling, 12 December 1883 - Smith County, TX

Submitted by Vicki Betts <Vicki_Betts@mail.uttyl.edu
13 Sep 2002

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TEXAS CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE, May 3, 1884, p. 7, c. 4


GRAMBLING.—Died, at the residence of Hon. T. R. Bonner, Tyler, Texas, 
Dec. 12, 1883, Mrs. Lou Grambling, the wife of Allen Grambling, aged 
29 years. Mrs. Grambling was the daughter of Mr. T. H. and Mary 
Traylor, and was born Feb. 10, 1854. I first met Sister Grambling in 
the winter of 1878, at which time I became her pastor. She then wore 
upon her cheeks the first blushes of womanhood, and from her joyous 
heart frequently went forth the ringing laugh of purity and innocence. 
Full of all sweet hopes, and bright with innocent beauty, she was 
loved and won by that most estimable gentleman, who now weeps over 
her tomb and refuses to be comforted. To him she yielded her faith 
and trust, in anticipation of a long and happy union. But, alas! 
little did the writer think, when the two stood before him at the 
hymeneal altar, panoplied by the marriage bell, that only four short 
years of conjugal bliss should come and go until I should be called 
upon to read over her broken urn the solemn words: "For as it hath 
pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this 
world the soul of our deceased sister, we therefore commit her body 
to the ground—earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." But the 
inevitable decree, written long years ago against humanity, is still 
upon the Statute Book of God our Creator: "From the dust we came, 
and unto the dust we shall return." "Man, that is born of woman, is 
of few days. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down." This 
flower did not fade from the chilling winds and poisonous breath of 
a long career, for it was plucked and sent to the tomb glistening 
with the dew of the morning of life, and with the odors of the bridal 
wreath still lingering upon the marble brow. When a child, Sister 
Grambling became a maternal orphan. This dispensation of Providence 
caused her forlorn and wifeless father to seek a new home for his 
little daughter. At this juncture the wide doors of the hospitable 
home of her uncle and aunt (Hon. T. R. Bonner and wife) became the 
haven of her remaining days; and from the first day that her tiny feet 
crossed the threshold of that elegant home until the day of her death 
their people became her people, and their God her God. Where they 
lived she lived; and, though married, and the wife of a man whose 
sterling business capacities were of such a character that he was 
fully competent to have ensconced her under his own vine and fig tree, 
yet so great was her affection for her adopted parents, and so 
attached were they to her, they could not bear separation. She lived 
and died at their home. From the kind and sanctified guidance 
received at their hands, as she grew in years, she developed in 
those elegant accomplishments which give woman her most endearing 
charms and invest her with a sovereign sway over the hearts of the 
good. Her stature was symmetrical, tall and graceful; her face 
possessed the mingled sweets of the lily and the rose, and her eyes, 
beaming with intelligence, threw a halo of intellectual expression 
over her countenance pleasant to behold. With such beauties and 
virtues she was calculated to irradiate her sphere of domestic life, 
and gild its storms and darkness with a sympathy and sentiment 
peculiar only to those whose life-drill has been under the gentle 
sway of refinement and Christian culture. Her manners had that 
affability of politeness which accommodates itself to all grades of 
her social circle. She never made a parade of herself or attainments, 
with a view of shining at the expense of her acquaintances. In her 
conversation there was nothing of that austere and proud superiority 
which many persons sometimes assume. In company, whether beneath the 
emblazoned sheen of the chandelier or bending low beside the couch 
of sorrow, where flickered dimly the sick-room taper, her behavior 
was cheerful and agreeable, and to the fevered brow the touch of her 
hand was that of a friend indeed. Those who knew her best and loved 
her devotedly can with safety demand of her neighbors and 
acquaintances to witness against her in any fact derogatory to her 
character as a true woman or Christian lady. As a wife she adored 
the one whom she honored as her husband. In yielding to him her 
faith and trust, she gave also her entire heart; and in deed and 
in truth to her was his strong right arm. She applied herself to 
the task of domestic life with cheerfulness and hope, and with 
marked enthusiasm realized Solomon's description of a model woman: 
"The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he 
shall have no need of spoil." Her constant endeavor was to make 
his habitation alluring and delightful; and under her benignant 
smile the sacred precinct of her hearthstone was a sanctuary to 
which his heart always turned from the ills and anxieties of life. 
In this haven there was a repose from care, a shelter from the 
world, and a sweet home not only for his person but for his heart. 
In conversing with Mr. Grambling on the eve of his wife's burial, 
concerning her eminent and many virtues, he remarked that not a 
cloud had in the least gloomed their marital life: "And, sir, 
since the day of our espousal not a word has been spoken, or an 
act performed, that has marred in the least our bliss." Such a 
character is worthy our highest aim to imitate, and such traits 
of character as were possessed by our departed sister will send 
out upon society an influence that will live when paintings upon 
canvas will have faded and monuments of marble and of brass will 
have crumbled. Death has entered that happy home, and has left in 
gloom a devoted husband and two motherless children. Yet all is 
not gloom, for in her short career she kindled a golden flame that 
will shine unto the perfect day, and will illumine the pathway of 
the sorrowing ones as they journey towards the celestial city. 
Though young in years our departed sister was not a stranger to 
grace. Her fealty to Christ and devotedness to the Methodist Church, 
of which she became a member in girlhood, consoles the bereaved 
ones with the happy thought that she is now an occupant of that 
city whose foundations are not of stone, and whose builder is God.

"The voice at midnight came,
She started up to hear;
A mortal arrow pierced her frame,
She fell! but felt no fear; 
"Tranquil amid alarms,"
It found her on the field."

She regretted leaving her husband and children, but submissively 
bowed to her Lord and Master's will. After having kissed her 
babies, and a few words of direction in reference to their welfare, 
she bid the sorrowing ones who stood around her bed "Farewell." 
And then, with a long look of love and affection into the fact of 
her husband, she said: "My darling one, farewell; I will be ever 
waiting and watching at the beautiful gate for you." May the God 
of this sainted woman ever be the God of her husband. And may his 
feet from this time begin the ascent of the "golden stairway" that 
leads to the "beautiful gate." May loving hands support the tottering 
steps of the little babes who now have no mother. May counsels 
restrain them, and Christian influences control them, until at last 
parents and children and loved ones all shall press through the 
pearly gates, and abide forever where sickness and sorrow will be 
no more, and the rumble of the hearse-wheel will not startle. We 
plant this rose upon her grave in full expectation of meeting her 
again.

                                  —U. B. PHILIPS.