The following is a Eulogy written by Rebecca Yant to Robert McPherson Hammonds and his wife Floy Jacobs about the death of their infant son.
Not
long ago, I witnessed the sweetest and saddest sight I think my eyes will ever
behold this side of the blue heavens. It
was a sweet innocent little baby asleep in Jesus.
Oh, its little face looked so tranquil and calm.
It bore no trace of death, no trace of the agonies through which it had
passed, agonies so terrible in their pain that one standing by was glad for its
sake to see death give the poor little baby rest and sleep if there were no
waking. No, it bore no traces of
such. It seemed never to have known
pain, suffering nor death.
Yes, sweet little
Hulon was dead. He remembered one
of Dicken’s own “The Death of Little Nell”.
“No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from the trace of pain, so
fair to look upon. She seemed to be
a creature fresh from the hand of God waiting for the breath of life, not one
who had lived and suffered death”. Indeed
little Hulon is waiting for the breath of life and he will wait on patiently and
quietly, yes sleep on “beautiful and calm” until Christ shall come and raise
that little body and gives it that “Breath of Life” which we all aspire to
receive.
The agony of the
parents was intense, almost unbearable as they viewed their darling little babe
for the last time in their dear home, the home it had brightened so radiantly by
the glorious sunlight of its dear presence, but now it was dark, so dark they
could not see why death had come unhindered and unasked and stole their precious
little baby from them. They forgot
what Christ had said, “Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven”.
Once, yes many times
I hear the grief stricken mother utter a long, sad wail, more sorrowful and
touching than any words. It came
from the depths of her heart – too deep for words and I think it was heard in
heaven and it frailed with pain.
At a late hour – I
know not how high the sun for the clouds were black and thick – we followed
all that was mortal of little Hulon to the cold, dark grave and as I stood there
beholding the faces of my early school mates first born for the last time on the
earth seeing the uncontrollable grief of the poor parents; my heart was rent in
twain.
After a hard fight
between life and death, the grave rose up conqueror and said, “I claim the
victory” and received for its part in the struggle nothing but the little cold
still that would soon moulder back to mother – earth for death had released
the little soul from the turmoils and cares of life and it had been bourne by
the angels up to God here to sing everlasting praise to Christ its Savior and
waits to welcome papa and mama home to heaven.
Yes. Death called
that cruel monster came so painlessly, so gradually, so peacefully that we knew
not the exact moment little Hulon was no more.
It was so different to the agonies through which it had passed that we
thought him dying when he slept and sleeping when he died.
As these thoughts
passed through my mind, I turned away and left the little body to be watched
over by our Heavenly Father even in the grave until the resurrection morn and
exclaimed: “Oh! Death where is thy sting, Oh grave where is thy victory”.
Father, mother cease thy weeping, my prayers for thee are given that when
you say farewell to earth, you’ll meet little Hulon in Heaven.