DEATH OF WILLIE ROCKWELL
Tuesday, Sept. 19th, at half past three o'clock, Willie Rockwell died, after some three weeks illness, and this sad announcement will probably be to many the first news of his illness. While this brave boy lay for days and weeks battling wit the grim spectre at his bedside, the hum of trade and industry went on around him, as if there were no such thing as death within this world of ours. And such is life. Eager, restless humanity pushes on over the bodies of the fallen to reach some imaginary goal. And that goal is what? Only the dark river beneath whose waves the loved one disappears to be seen no more upon the hither bank.
And the smiles and the tears,
The song and the dirge,
Still follow each other
Like surge upon surge.
Willie was a manly boy, fearless, frank and honest. He had no wild oats to sow, for the trunk of his young manhood grew so strong and vigorous that it left no sustenance for noxious weeds in such a soil. Filial and loving to his parents and family, loyal and true to his youthful comrades – full of hope and courage, and just entering upon the threshold of life, the world might far better have spared many of his seniors. But the ruthless reaper gives no reason and brooks no argument as to his choice. While many a decrepit old man, tired of life, its troubles, its shams and its sorrows, yet lingers with one foot already in the grave, he scornfully passes them by and takes the blooming youth instinct with life and health. The wretch who prays for death is left to writhe in agony of soul; the youth who longs for life is taken upon the postal. We shall get no answer to the question why these things are so until we reach that great beyond which comes for all of us only tomorrow.
At nineteen years of age this bright boy is called upon to yield up his young life and a pall of darkness settles down upon a happy household; a pall so deep and dark that it seems to his afflicted parents that no ray of light shall evermore pierce through. While words at such a time seem but mockery yet there is some virtue in human sympathy, and a whole community shares with them in their bereavement.
Willie is gone:
Close his eyes his work is done
What to him is friend or foeman
Rise of moon or set of sun
Hand of man or kiss of woman?
Leave him to God's watching eye
Trust him to the hand that made him
Mortal love weep idly by
God alone has power to aid him.
The funeral of Willie Rockwell took place at the residence of A.G. Rockwell last Thursday and was largely attended. Rev. F.R. Heff of Trinity Church conducted the services and the Trinity choir furnished the music. The floral tributes were profuse and very fine. Among them was a beautiful loral design contributed by the pupils of the Normal School representing "Gates Ajar." The pall bearers were Arthur Smith, James Conro, Geo. Choate, Henry A. Harshaw.
The love and respect felt by the teachers and pupils of the Normal School for Willie Rockwell was beautifully expressed in their elegant floral offering representing the "Gates Ajar," and bearing the name "Willie" in immortelles upon its base. Out of respect for his memory, there was no session of the school Thursday p.m. The faculty and most of the students attended the funeral, the gentlemen marching in a body to the cemetery.
(SOURCE: Oshkosh Weekly Northwestern – Thurs, 28 September 1882 & Oshkosh Northwestern - Wed, 20 Sept 1882, Pg 4)
Tuesday, Sept. 19th, at half past three o'clock, Willie Rockwell died, after some three weeks illness, and this sad announcement will probably be to many the first news of his illness. While this brave boy lay for days and weeks battling wit the grim spectre at his bedside, the hum of trade and industry went on around him, as if there were no such thing as death within this world of ours. And such is life. Eager, restless humanity pushes on over the bodies of the fallen to reach some imaginary goal. And that goal is what? Only the dark river beneath whose waves the loved one disappears to be seen no more upon the hither bank.
And the smiles and the tears,
The song and the dirge,
Still follow each other
Like surge upon surge.
Willie was a manly boy, fearless, frank and honest. He had no wild oats to sow, for the trunk of his young manhood grew so strong and vigorous that it left no sustenance for noxious weeds in such a soil. Filial and loving to his parents and family, loyal and true to his youthful comrades – full of hope and courage, and just entering upon the threshold of life, the world might far better have spared many of his seniors. But the ruthless reaper gives no reason and brooks no argument as to his choice. While many a decrepit old man, tired of life, its troubles, its shams and its sorrows, yet lingers with one foot already in the grave, he scornfully passes them by and takes the blooming youth instinct with life and health. The wretch who prays for death is left to writhe in agony of soul; the youth who longs for life is taken upon the postal. We shall get no answer to the question why these things are so until we reach that great beyond which comes for all of us only tomorrow.
At nineteen years of age this bright boy is called upon to yield up his young life and a pall of darkness settles down upon a happy household; a pall so deep and dark that it seems to his afflicted parents that no ray of light shall evermore pierce through. While words at such a time seem but mockery yet there is some virtue in human sympathy, and a whole community shares with them in their bereavement.
Willie is gone:
Close his eyes his work is done
What to him is friend or foeman
Rise of moon or set of sun
Hand of man or kiss of woman?
Leave him to God's watching eye
Trust him to the hand that made him
Mortal love weep idly by
God alone has power to aid him.
The funeral of Willie Rockwell took place at the residence of A.G. Rockwell last Thursday and was largely attended. Rev. F.R. Heff of Trinity Church conducted the services and the Trinity choir furnished the music. The floral tributes were profuse and very fine. Among them was a beautiful loral design contributed by the pupils of the Normal School representing "Gates Ajar." The pall bearers were Arthur Smith, James Conro, Geo. Choate, Henry A. Harshaw.
The love and respect felt by the teachers and pupils of the Normal School for Willie Rockwell was beautifully expressed in their elegant floral offering representing the "Gates Ajar," and bearing the name "Willie" in immortelles upon its base. Out of respect for his memory, there was no session of the school Thursday p.m. The faculty and most of the students attended the funeral, the gentlemen marching in a body to the cemetery.
(SOURCE: Oshkosh Weekly Northwestern – Thurs, 28 September 1882 & Oshkosh Northwestern - Wed, 20 Sept 1882, Pg 4)
DEATH OF WILLIE ROCKWELL
Tuesday, Sept. 19th, at half past three o'clock, Willie Rockwell died, after some three weeks illness, and this sad announcement will probably be to many the first news of his illness. While this brave boy lay for days and weeks battling wit the grim spectre at his bedside, the hum of trade and industry went on around him, as if there were no such thing as death within this world of ours. And such is life. Eager, restless humanity pushes on over the bodies of the fallen to reach some imaginary goal. And that goal is what? Only the dark river beneath whose waves the loved one disappears to be seen no more upon the hither bank.
And the smiles and the tears,
The song and the dirge,
Still follow each other
Like surge upon surge.
Willie was a manly boy, fearless, frank and honest. He had no wild oats to sow, for the trunk of his young manhood grew so strong and vigorous that it left no sustenance for noxious weeds in such a soil. Filial and loving to his parents and family, loyal and true to his youthful comrades – full of hope and courage, and just entering upon the threshold of life, the world might far better have spared many of his seniors. But the ruthless reaper gives no reason and brooks no argument as to his choice. While many a decrepit old man, tired of life, its troubles, its shams and its sorrows, yet lingers with one foot already in the grave, he scornfully passes them by and takes the blooming youth instinct with life and health. The wretch who prays for death is left to writhe in agony of soul; the youth who longs for life is taken upon the postal. We shall get no answer to the question why these things are so until we reach that great beyond which comes for all of us only tomorrow.
At nineteen years of age this bright boy is called upon to yield up his young life and a pall of darkness settles down upon a happy household; a pall so deep and dark that it seems to his afflicted parents that no ray of light shall evermore pierce through. While words at such a time seem but mockery yet there is some virtue in human sympathy, and a whole community shares with them in their bereavement.
Willie is gone:
Close his eyes his work is done
What to him is friend or foeman
Rise of moon or set of sun
Hand of man or kiss of woman?
Leave him to God's watching eye
Trust him to the hand that made him
Mortal love weep idly by
God alone has power to aid him.
The funeral of Willie Rockwell took place at the residence of A.G. Rockwell last Thursday and was largely attended. Rev. F.R. Heff of Trinity Church conducted the services and the Trinity choir furnished the music. The floral tributes were profuse and very fine. Among them was a beautiful loral design contributed by the pupils of the Normal School representing "Gates Ajar." The pall bearers were Arthur Smith, James Conro, Geo. Choate, Henry A. Harshaw.
The love and respect felt by the teachers and pupils of the Normal School for Willie Rockwell was beautifully expressed in their elegant floral offering representing the "Gates Ajar," and bearing the name "Willie" in immortelles upon its base. Out of respect for his memory, there was no session of the school Thursday p.m. The faculty and most of the students attended the funeral, the gentlemen marching in a body to the cemetery.
(SOURCE: Oshkosh Weekly Northwestern – Thurs, 28 September 1882 & Oshkosh Northwestern - Wed, 20 Sept 1882, Pg 4)
Tuesday, Sept. 19th, at half past three o'clock, Willie Rockwell died, after some three weeks illness, and this sad announcement will probably be to many the first news of his illness. While this brave boy lay for days and weeks battling wit the grim spectre at his bedside, the hum of trade and industry went on around him, as if there were no such thing as death within this world of ours. And such is life. Eager, restless humanity pushes on over the bodies of the fallen to reach some imaginary goal. And that goal is what? Only the dark river beneath whose waves the loved one disappears to be seen no more upon the hither bank.
And the smiles and the tears,
The song and the dirge,
Still follow each other
Like surge upon surge.
Willie was a manly boy, fearless, frank and honest. He had no wild oats to sow, for the trunk of his young manhood grew so strong and vigorous that it left no sustenance for noxious weeds in such a soil. Filial and loving to his parents and family, loyal and true to his youthful comrades – full of hope and courage, and just entering upon the threshold of life, the world might far better have spared many of his seniors. But the ruthless reaper gives no reason and brooks no argument as to his choice. While many a decrepit old man, tired of life, its troubles, its shams and its sorrows, yet lingers with one foot already in the grave, he scornfully passes them by and takes the blooming youth instinct with life and health. The wretch who prays for death is left to writhe in agony of soul; the youth who longs for life is taken upon the postal. We shall get no answer to the question why these things are so until we reach that great beyond which comes for all of us only tomorrow.
At nineteen years of age this bright boy is called upon to yield up his young life and a pall of darkness settles down upon a happy household; a pall so deep and dark that it seems to his afflicted parents that no ray of light shall evermore pierce through. While words at such a time seem but mockery yet there is some virtue in human sympathy, and a whole community shares with them in their bereavement.
Willie is gone:
Close his eyes his work is done
What to him is friend or foeman
Rise of moon or set of sun
Hand of man or kiss of woman?
Leave him to God's watching eye
Trust him to the hand that made him
Mortal love weep idly by
God alone has power to aid him.
The funeral of Willie Rockwell took place at the residence of A.G. Rockwell last Thursday and was largely attended. Rev. F.R. Heff of Trinity Church conducted the services and the Trinity choir furnished the music. The floral tributes were profuse and very fine. Among them was a beautiful loral design contributed by the pupils of the Normal School representing "Gates Ajar." The pall bearers were Arthur Smith, James Conro, Geo. Choate, Henry A. Harshaw.
The love and respect felt by the teachers and pupils of the Normal School for Willie Rockwell was beautifully expressed in their elegant floral offering representing the "Gates Ajar," and bearing the name "Willie" in immortelles upon its base. Out of respect for his memory, there was no session of the school Thursday p.m. The faculty and most of the students attended the funeral, the gentlemen marching in a body to the cemetery.
(SOURCE: Oshkosh Weekly Northwestern – Thurs, 28 September 1882 & Oshkosh Northwestern - Wed, 20 Sept 1882, Pg 4)
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