In: The Sentinel, November 2, 1877
In Memory of William McCargar, Lindsey Creek
By Birdie
One more weary, careworn traveler
Reached the other side at last,
Pain and sorrow, joy and gladness,
Grief and tears forever past.
Aged traveler, art thou happy
In those heavenly mansions bright,
Looking down with eyes of pity
On your earthly friends tonight?
On the tender, dear heart mourning,
At her lonely fireside;
In bright girlhood's early springtime
She became your cherished bride.
Hand in hand you've walked together
Up life's hillside, rugged, steep,
Flowery paths all joy and gladness,
Thorny paths to make men weep.
But we cannot cease to sorrow
When dear ones are called away.
Why does not God give us power
To realize a brighter day?
Why can we not be submissive
When we know they suffer not?
Could we hear the dear voice chanting,
"Oh, my friends, weep not, mourn not,"
Think you then we'd be submissive,
Bow beneath the chastening rod?
Ah friends, judge not; though our hearts faint,
Yet we all must trust in God.
Every day the white-robed angel
Calls some dear one from their home
And we hear them chanting sweetly,
"Mourn not, friends, ye all must come.
"Ah, yes, dear ones, we all know this,
Let us seek the home of light.
Love our neighbor, trust our Saviour,
God is love and all is right.
In Memory of William McCargar, Lindsey Creek
By Birdie
One more weary, careworn traveler
Reached the other side at last,
Pain and sorrow, joy and gladness,
Grief and tears forever past.
Aged traveler, art thou happy
In those heavenly mansions bright,
Looking down with eyes of pity
On your earthly friends tonight?
On the tender, dear heart mourning,
At her lonely fireside;
In bright girlhood's early springtime
She became your cherished bride.
Hand in hand you've walked together
Up life's hillside, rugged, steep,
Flowery paths all joy and gladness,
Thorny paths to make men weep.
But we cannot cease to sorrow
When dear ones are called away.
Why does not God give us power
To realize a brighter day?
Why can we not be submissive
When we know they suffer not?
Could we hear the dear voice chanting,
"Oh, my friends, weep not, mourn not,"
Think you then we'd be submissive,
Bow beneath the chastening rod?
Ah friends, judge not; though our hearts faint,
Yet we all must trust in God.
Every day the white-robed angel
Calls some dear one from their home
And we hear them chanting sweetly,
"Mourn not, friends, ye all must come.
"Ah, yes, dear ones, we all know this,
Let us seek the home of light.
Love our neighbor, trust our Saviour,
God is love and all is right.
In: The Sentinel, November 2, 1877
In Memory of William McCargar, Lindsey Creek
By Birdie
One more weary, careworn traveler
Reached the other side at last,
Pain and sorrow, joy and gladness,
Grief and tears forever past.
Aged traveler, art thou happy
In those heavenly mansions bright,
Looking down with eyes of pity
On your earthly friends tonight?
On the tender, dear heart mourning,
At her lonely fireside;
In bright girlhood's early springtime
She became your cherished bride.
Hand in hand you've walked together
Up life's hillside, rugged, steep,
Flowery paths all joy and gladness,
Thorny paths to make men weep.
But we cannot cease to sorrow
When dear ones are called away.
Why does not God give us power
To realize a brighter day?
Why can we not be submissive
When we know they suffer not?
Could we hear the dear voice chanting,
"Oh, my friends, weep not, mourn not,"
Think you then we'd be submissive,
Bow beneath the chastening rod?
Ah friends, judge not; though our hearts faint,
Yet we all must trust in God.
Every day the white-robed angel
Calls some dear one from their home
And we hear them chanting sweetly,
"Mourn not, friends, ye all must come.
"Ah, yes, dear ones, we all know this,
Let us seek the home of light.
Love our neighbor, trust our Saviour,
God is love and all is right.
In Memory of William McCargar, Lindsey Creek
By Birdie
One more weary, careworn traveler
Reached the other side at last,
Pain and sorrow, joy and gladness,
Grief and tears forever past.
Aged traveler, art thou happy
In those heavenly mansions bright,
Looking down with eyes of pity
On your earthly friends tonight?
On the tender, dear heart mourning,
At her lonely fireside;
In bright girlhood's early springtime
She became your cherished bride.
Hand in hand you've walked together
Up life's hillside, rugged, steep,
Flowery paths all joy and gladness,
Thorny paths to make men weep.
But we cannot cease to sorrow
When dear ones are called away.
Why does not God give us power
To realize a brighter day?
Why can we not be submissive
When we know they suffer not?
Could we hear the dear voice chanting,
"Oh, my friends, weep not, mourn not,"
Think you then we'd be submissive,
Bow beneath the chastening rod?
Ah friends, judge not; though our hearts faint,
Yet we all must trust in God.
Every day the white-robed angel
Calls some dear one from their home
And we hear them chanting sweetly,
"Mourn not, friends, ye all must come.
"Ah, yes, dear ones, we all know this,
Let us seek the home of light.
Love our neighbor, trust our Saviour,
God is love and all is right.
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