The Church and Cemetery Records of Hanover, Mass: History and records of the First Congregational Church, Hanover, Mass., 1727-1865, and inscriptions from the headstones and tombs in the cemetery at Centre Hanover, Mass., 1727-1894
Wallace Spooner, 1895
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Abigail aged April August Bailey BARSTOW Bass Bates Benj Benjamin Betty born Brooks Brother Caleb called Charles child chosen Christ church Clark committee council Curtis Curtiss Daniel daughter daughter of Joseph David Deacon death Deborah December Desire died Aug died Jan Died June died Nov died Oct died Sept dismissed DWELLY dyed Eells Elijah Elisha Elizabeth Ezekiel February Feby George Hannah Hanover HATCH House Infant Isaac James Jane January Jany John Joseph Joshua Josiah Josselyn July Lemuel letter loved Lucy Lydia MANN March Margaret Martha Mary meeting Memory Miss months November Novr October pastor Perry Pratt present profession Rachel RAMSDALE Rebecca records rest Robert ROGERS Rose Ruth Samuel Sarah Scituate Sepr September Seth sickness Smith STETSON STOCKBRIDGE STUDLEY SYLVESTER Thomas Timothy TORREY town TURNER Voted WHITING Widow wife yrs 4 mos
Стр. 259 - Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on his breast I lean my head, And breathe my life out sweetly there.
Стр. 253 - The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.
Стр. 258 - WHY do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends To call them to his arms.
Стр. 236 - A precious one from us has gone, A voice we loved is stilled; A place is vacant in our home, Which never can be filled.
Стр. 239 - Or the last watch of ending night. 4 Death, like an overflowing stream, Sweeps us away : our life's a dream ; An empty tale ; a morning flower, Cut down and wither'd in an hour.
Стр. 219 - HOW vain are all things here below ! How false and yet how fair ! Each pleasure hath its poison too, And every sweet a snare.
Стр. 259 - FRIEND after friend departs : Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest.
Стр. 302 - Virtues loved to dwell. Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity, were there. In agony, in death resign'd, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant Image here below Sits smiling on a Father's woe : Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along the lonely vale of days ? A Pang, to secret sorrow...