Herbert's mother saved a copy of his obituary and tucked it between the first pages of her family Bible. The Bible was passed down to William Amon Parkinson, and then his daughter Dorothy. Dorothy's son discovered Herbert's obituary in the family Bible in 2012.

Below is my transcription of Herbert's obituary and the poem that accompanied it in a local Washington Township - Broderick, California newspaper (title unknown) dated 23 June 1898. The author of the poem was not acknowledged; however, the poem is called, "THE PARTING HOUR," and was written by Edward Pollock in 1857.

Entered 19 May 2012 by Colleen A. Parkinson, Herbert's grand-niece.

DIED

PARKINSON - In this city, June 21, 1898, Herbert J., son of Chris and Mary Parkinson, a native of Kansas, aged 24 years, 10 months and 19 days.

Friends and acquaintances are respectfully invited to attend the funeral Thursday at 2:30 p.m., from Clark's undertaking parlors, 1017 and 1019 Fourth Street.

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(Dedicated to Herb. Parkinson)

There's something in the parting hour
Will chill the warmest heart,
Yet kindred, comrades, lovers, friends,
Are fated all to part.
But this I've seen, and many a pang
Has pressed it on my mind,
The one that goes is happier
Than those he leaves behind.

No matter what the journey be,
Adventurous danger far,
To the wild deep or black frontier,
To solitude or war;
Still something cheers the heart that dares
In all of human kind,
And they who go are happier
Than those they leave behind.

The bride goes to the bridegroom's home
With doubting and with tears;
But does not Hope her rainbow spread
Across her cloudy fears?
Alas! the mother who remains,
What comfort can she find
But this, the gone is happier
Than one she leaves behind?

Have you a friend, a comrade dear,
An old and valued friend,
Be sure your time of sweet converse
At length will have an end.
And when you part, as part you will,
O take it not unkind
If he who goes is happier
Than you he leaves behind.

God wills it so, and so it is,
The pilgrims on their way,
The weak and worn more cheerful are
Than all the rest that stay;
And when at last, poor man, subdued,
Lies down to death resigned,
May he not still be happier far
Than those he leaves behind?

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