Posted on: Lagrange Co. IN Obituaries
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Surname: Grossman, Groh, Williams
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A LOSS TO COMMUNITY,FRIENDS AND RELATIVES
It was on Friday morning when we never thought of harm,
That we heard the wagon rattle on Henry Grossman's farm.
It rattled longer,fiercer,till at last it come in sight-
We saw George sitting on the wagon and the team had taken fright,
We saw the team a running as we were loading wood
And George he pulled with all his might to stop them is he could.
It seemed it was to be,for when they neared a spot
Our eyes were eager to behold,alas!we saw him drop.
Across the field we almost flew,for well we knew 'twas done,
And as the team ran round the field uncoupled they had come.
His father caught the frightened team and for his son did call;
He knew not that his precious boy in Death's cold arms did fall.
Now as we neared that awful scene I ne'er forget the place,
Poor George's body,wrapped in death,lay prostrate on his face.
We lifted up his lifeless form,his mother come to see-
His sister with her heartfelt cries,said,"O,George,do speak to me."
His mother was almost wild with grief,his father's heart was broke;
Their precious boy,their peace,their joy,he died and never spoke.
The doctors come,could do no good,they said that he was dead-
The frozen ground had met his face while something struck his head.
The 27th Sunday was a dark and lonesome day.
It blowed.it snowed,it was so cold we laid poor George away,
And there he lies all covered up,a grand and noble boy-
We will think of him for many days,but never once with joy;
He was like a set that's in a ring,this grand and noble boy-
And now,dear friend,as you read those lines don't lay it up to heart,
For Christ,our Heavenly Father,said on earth that we must part;
And if we do as Christ has said,repent and be baptised.
Then we shall see our loved ones that's gone and lives above the skies.
With broken heart I wrote those lines and tear drops in my eyes,
With father,mother,sister,brother,we ne'er can sympathize.
Now I must stop,poor George is gone and numbered with the dead,
A thousand things,if I had time,of him there might be said.
And now young man,a warning take,and live as did this boy,
Obey your parents in everything and that will give them joy.
And when you ask who wrote those lines,and why they aren't better,
Remember it's a first for me,this poor composed letter.
Friday,Feb.25th,1887 Andrew Williams.