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Rachel Taylor
"Rachel Taylor is dead," were the sad words spoken over the wires from Flushing Hospital on Tuesday, August 17, 1909, where the previous week she had undergone an operation for gall stones. She was born October 14, 1855, married James L. Taylor on December 28, 1875. Eleven children were born to this union. In the last few years she was a great sufferer, yet never complaining, but bore it with patience that seemed almost angelic. Almost her who life was spent in Olivett, and at the time of her death she had not one enemy. She was a great lover of home. In it she was queen; across its portals no enemy was allowed to come; at its shrine she worshipped, and for its inmates she gave her life, her all. To her husband and children she was all a loving wife and devoted mother could be. Their wants were her wants, their needs, her needs, their life, her life, and such was surely in mind of Shakespear when he said:
She is mine own:
And I am rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
She had to die. Both nature and the Bible proclaim this sad and understandable truth; it is unreverable and irrevocable; but not withstanding all this. Rachel Taylor is not dead, for a life of motherly sacrifice, wifely devotions and friendly ministrations can never die; it is eternal immortal, and as Longfellow has most beautifully and truthfully said concerning such, "There is no death, what seems so is transition." Her chair is vacant, her voice stilled, her presence is gone, and she has left behind a husband and nine children to mourn her loss. She also left a host of friends who loved her in life and will cherish her memory in death and whose sympathies will go out to that husband as he sits amid the ruins of broken family circle and at his lonely fireside alone, waiting, waiting waiting for a touch of a vanished hand, for the sound of a voice that is still." Let all these catch consolation to assuage this grief from the fact that she has left them the heritage of a spotless name, tender memories of an affectionate wife, a devoted mother and a faithful friend, and above all an assurance that death to her had no sting, nor the grave no victory, but only through the could she journey to her home, "A house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, and whose doors never outward swing."
Skeptical philosophy might suggest that for the pulseless brain and throbless heart of our late friend there is no morrow; that when "dust to dust" is spoken all is said. I cannot, I will not subscribe to so cruel, materialistic creed. Death does not end all. somewhere beyond the night, life's broken cord will be mended.
In the silent land beyond the grave, under Divine guidance, the spirit of Rachel Taylor, will be cleansed of all its earthly dross, and shall stand purified and glorified in the presence of its Creator and its God, and where it is possible for a husband and children to meet, wife and mother to form a home circle that will not be broken throughout the ages of eternity.
From the Barnesville Enterprise, August 26, 1909
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