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Jane E. Butterfield Obituary
Contributed by Debbie
Woodworth
Jane E. Butterfield
Jane E. Butterfield died at her daughter’s home
in Page Neb., Jan. 5, 1904, of heart disease, at the age of 74 years, 6
months, 13 days. She was born in Hector, Thompkins Co., New York, where she
lived until 12 years of age, when she moved with her parents to Mich. Lived
there until 1860, when she moved to Iowa, where she lived until 1880, then
she moved to Walnut Grove, Neb.
She was united in marriage to J. C.
Butterfield, Aug. 7, 1852. He being the father of four children at the time
of there marriage (all living now but one). To them were born nine children,
all living, but one. Eight of the thirteen children and one sister were with
her the last week of her sickness and at her bed side when she died. She was
a kind and loving mother and true friend. She leaves eleven children, two
sisters and brother to mourn her loss. Besides grand children, great grand
children and many friends.
Farewell, dear mother, sweet thu rest,
Weary with years and worn with pain,
Farewell, ‘till in some happy place
We shall behold thy face again.’
‘Tis ours to miss thee, all our years
And tender memories of thee keep
Thine in the Lord to rest, for so,
He giveth His beloved sleep.
How long the day’s drag dreary on
Since from our home our mother gone,
Days of sorrow and nights of pain,
To us below, but mark her gain.
For hours of labor, she has rest;
No longer sad, she now is blest;
For fleeting joys come blessings bright
Eternal day succeds the night.
On earth our hearts in sweet communion
Joyed in happy hours we spent,
With truest love and perfect union
In earthly joy our spirits blent.
But thou art gone, our spirits severed,
By death’s cold hand thou’st reft away
Our hope lies in the great Forever
When we shall find God’s endless Day.
Earth’s sorrows teach us submission
To God’s howe’er made known,
For every sorrow has its mission
To make us bow before His throne.
But, Dear Lord, how hard the measure
Seems to take our dearest one,
The one who was our greatest treasure,
Still we say Thy will be Done.
We miss thee from our home dear mother,
We miss thee from thy place,
A shadow o’er our life is cast,
We miss the sunshine of thy face.
We miss thy kind and willing hand,
Thy fond earnest care,
Our home is dark without thee –
We miss thee every where.
Angel hands stretch forth to greet thee,
Angelic voices "welcome" cry,
Loved ones, gone before, will greet thee,
Before the pearly gates on high.
But thy children here are weeping,
Weeping in their bitter pain,
The loss is ours – in God’s keeping,
Thy soul has found the greatest gain.
Free from every earthly sorrow;
Happy now in heaven above;
Joying in the tomorrow,
Brightened by God’s saving love.
How can we mourn that thou art gone.
Yet we miss thy loving smile,
The fostering arm we leaned upon;
Oh, yes, we miss thee all the while.
We have lost our darling mother,
She has bid us all adieu,
She has gone to live in heaven,
And her person is lost to view.
Oh, that dear one, how we loved her!
Oh how hard to give her up!
But an angel came down for her
And removed her from our flock.
Heaven retaineth now our treasure,
Earth the lonely casket keeps;
And the subeams love to linger,
Where our sainted mother sleeps.
Mrs. B. P Roberge.
Since the above was written another one of the
number has gene to the other shore.
Earth has lost its look of gladness,
Heaven seems to us more bright,
Since the spirit of our dear ones
Took their happy, homeward flight,
And we long to cross that river,
Long to rest upon that shore,
There to see , and know and love them,
With the Saviour, evermore.
Sister Sarah, she has left us;
Left us, yes, for evermore;
But we hope to meet our loved one
On that bright and happy shore.
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