Frances Emily Judy married Stephen Decatur Bowles before 1847 in KY.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
She was the mother of Parmelia Bowles
Susan Bowles
David Bowles
Anna Bowles
Liberty Weekly Tribune, Mar 1, 1861.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
Obituary.
Died in this county, February 16th, 1861, Mrs. Frances Bowles, wife of Stephen
D. Bowles, and daughter of Alex. Judy, Esq., and Susannah Sukey Bradley Judy in the 32nd year of her age.
No more shall the bitter winds, or the scorching sun, disturb her. She is
gone! Yes, she is gone to that distant land, where brightly shines the orb of
day; there to meet the bright, glowing angels, who will lead her to those
bowers on high, where endless pleasures and virtuous deeds are repayed. Before
she parted from us, it seemed as though Heaven had imprinted on her brow
something beyond this world ñ something which claims kindred with yonder skies.
Oh! that lovely smile, that tender look, that awakening and watchful eye, which
kept its fond vigil oíer her slumbering babe, is forever gone. He who could
enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its motherís beauty,
nourished by the tide of life, which flows through her generous veins, without
a panting bosom, and a sorrowful eye; is no man but a monster. This is an
object which neither the pen nor the chisel can touch; which poetry fails to
exalt; which the most eloquent tongue in vain would struggle at, and on which
all description becomes ineffective. Although under those circumstances I am
forced to write, and I would write, thoí my pen were doubly weak.
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
She had long been a member of the Old Baptist Church, and her career through
life had been one with which she had gained the affection of all who knew her.
She died with what the best physician deemed consumption; her sufferings were
unknown, although they were many; she bore them with unremitting fortitude, and
when the pangs of death were bearing heavy upon her fluttering heart, her last
words were, ìLet the will of God be done.î During her hours of illness, which
were many, she was treated with the most unlimited kindness and respect, by her
neighbors ñ which shall never be forgotten. She leaves a husband and four
children to mourn her loss. In his heart lies this lovely picture; it lives in
his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for
such another object on earth. But alas! he cannot find it; he is left to share
its consequences. That lovely smile which once met us face to face, sis so
twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb ere we forget it. We
can call up in long review the whole history of virtues and gentleness, and a
thousand other endearments which are lavished upon us almost unheeded in our
daily intercourse, but when we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful
tenderness of parting from one whom we loved so dearly; the bed of death which
all it agonies, its noiseless attendancies, its mute watchful assiduity, the
last testimonies of love expiring, the last fond look of that glaring eye,
turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence, that faint, fluttering
accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection.
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of love.
Every past endearment is gone of that departed one, who can never, never return
to soothe the aching heart. Ah! who would not shed tears at such thoughts if
they ever had added one affectionate look to the eye, or a smile on the
silvered brow of an endeared sister. Not one, though he be a friend; now let
all who read these feeble lines contemplate upon their future days; we often
complain that we are unhappy; that we tread in a thorny path, and drink of a
bitter stream; but from whence do our sorrows flow? do they not, in a great
measure, proceed from our own selfish and poisoned hearts? Banish malice, envy
and hatred; let love towards each other prevail, and a great portion of our
human misery will fade away, like darkness before the rising sun; it will
dissipate the gloom which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief
which often preys upon the heart.
Written by Frances Emily's father Alex. S. Judy.
Frances died at 32 yrs of age. Her youngest child Anna was 7 yrs
She was the mother of Parmelia Bowles
Susan Bowles
David Bowles
Anna Bowles
Liberty Weekly Tribune, Mar 1, 1861.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
Obituary.
Died in this county, February 16th, 1861, Mrs. Frances Bowles, wife of Stephen
D. Bowles, and daughter of Alex. Judy, Esq., and Susannah Sukey Bradley Judy in the 32nd year of her age.
No more shall the bitter winds, or the scorching sun, disturb her. She is
gone! Yes, she is gone to that distant land, where brightly shines the orb of
day; there to meet the bright, glowing angels, who will lead her to those
bowers on high, where endless pleasures and virtuous deeds are repayed. Before
she parted from us, it seemed as though Heaven had imprinted on her brow
something beyond this world ñ something which claims kindred with yonder skies.
Oh! that lovely smile, that tender look, that awakening and watchful eye, which
kept its fond vigil oíer her slumbering babe, is forever gone. He who could
enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its motherís beauty,
nourished by the tide of life, which flows through her generous veins, without
a panting bosom, and a sorrowful eye; is no man but a monster. This is an
object which neither the pen nor the chisel can touch; which poetry fails to
exalt; which the most eloquent tongue in vain would struggle at, and on which
all description becomes ineffective. Although under those circumstances I am
forced to write, and I would write, thoí my pen were doubly weak.
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
She had long been a member of the Old Baptist Church, and her career through
life had been one with which she had gained the affection of all who knew her.
She died with what the best physician deemed consumption; her sufferings were
unknown, although they were many; she bore them with unremitting fortitude, and
when the pangs of death were bearing heavy upon her fluttering heart, her last
words were, ìLet the will of God be done.î During her hours of illness, which
were many, she was treated with the most unlimited kindness and respect, by her
neighbors ñ which shall never be forgotten. She leaves a husband and four
children to mourn her loss. In his heart lies this lovely picture; it lives in
his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for
such another object on earth. But alas! he cannot find it; he is left to share
its consequences. That lovely smile which once met us face to face, sis so
twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb ere we forget it. We
can call up in long review the whole history of virtues and gentleness, and a
thousand other endearments which are lavished upon us almost unheeded in our
daily intercourse, but when we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful
tenderness of parting from one whom we loved so dearly; the bed of death which
all it agonies, its noiseless attendancies, its mute watchful assiduity, the
last testimonies of love expiring, the last fond look of that glaring eye,
turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence, that faint, fluttering
accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection.
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of love.
Every past endearment is gone of that departed one, who can never, never return
to soothe the aching heart. Ah! who would not shed tears at such thoughts if
they ever had added one affectionate look to the eye, or a smile on the
silvered brow of an endeared sister. Not one, though he be a friend; now let
all who read these feeble lines contemplate upon their future days; we often
complain that we are unhappy; that we tread in a thorny path, and drink of a
bitter stream; but from whence do our sorrows flow? do they not, in a great
measure, proceed from our own selfish and poisoned hearts? Banish malice, envy
and hatred; let love towards each other prevail, and a great portion of our
human misery will fade away, like darkness before the rising sun; it will
dissipate the gloom which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief
which often preys upon the heart.
Written by Frances Emily's father Alex. S. Judy.
Frances died at 32 yrs of age. Her youngest child Anna was 7 yrs
Frances Emily Judy married Stephen Decatur Bowles before 1847 in KY.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
She was the mother of Parmelia Bowles
Susan Bowles
David Bowles
Anna Bowles
Liberty Weekly Tribune, Mar 1, 1861.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
Obituary.
Died in this county, February 16th, 1861, Mrs. Frances Bowles, wife of Stephen
D. Bowles, and daughter of Alex. Judy, Esq., and Susannah Sukey Bradley Judy in the 32nd year of her age.
No more shall the bitter winds, or the scorching sun, disturb her. She is
gone! Yes, she is gone to that distant land, where brightly shines the orb of
day; there to meet the bright, glowing angels, who will lead her to those
bowers on high, where endless pleasures and virtuous deeds are repayed. Before
she parted from us, it seemed as though Heaven had imprinted on her brow
something beyond this world ñ something which claims kindred with yonder skies.
Oh! that lovely smile, that tender look, that awakening and watchful eye, which
kept its fond vigil oíer her slumbering babe, is forever gone. He who could
enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its motherís beauty,
nourished by the tide of life, which flows through her generous veins, without
a panting bosom, and a sorrowful eye; is no man but a monster. This is an
object which neither the pen nor the chisel can touch; which poetry fails to
exalt; which the most eloquent tongue in vain would struggle at, and on which
all description becomes ineffective. Although under those circumstances I am
forced to write, and I would write, thoí my pen were doubly weak.
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
She had long been a member of the Old Baptist Church, and her career through
life had been one with which she had gained the affection of all who knew her.
She died with what the best physician deemed consumption; her sufferings were
unknown, although they were many; she bore them with unremitting fortitude, and
when the pangs of death were bearing heavy upon her fluttering heart, her last
words were, ìLet the will of God be done.î During her hours of illness, which
were many, she was treated with the most unlimited kindness and respect, by her
neighbors ñ which shall never be forgotten. She leaves a husband and four
children to mourn her loss. In his heart lies this lovely picture; it lives in
his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for
such another object on earth. But alas! he cannot find it; he is left to share
its consequences. That lovely smile which once met us face to face, sis so
twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb ere we forget it. We
can call up in long review the whole history of virtues and gentleness, and a
thousand other endearments which are lavished upon us almost unheeded in our
daily intercourse, but when we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful
tenderness of parting from one whom we loved so dearly; the bed of death which
all it agonies, its noiseless attendancies, its mute watchful assiduity, the
last testimonies of love expiring, the last fond look of that glaring eye,
turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence, that faint, fluttering
accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection.
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of love.
Every past endearment is gone of that departed one, who can never, never return
to soothe the aching heart. Ah! who would not shed tears at such thoughts if
they ever had added one affectionate look to the eye, or a smile on the
silvered brow of an endeared sister. Not one, though he be a friend; now let
all who read these feeble lines contemplate upon their future days; we often
complain that we are unhappy; that we tread in a thorny path, and drink of a
bitter stream; but from whence do our sorrows flow? do they not, in a great
measure, proceed from our own selfish and poisoned hearts? Banish malice, envy
and hatred; let love towards each other prevail, and a great portion of our
human misery will fade away, like darkness before the rising sun; it will
dissipate the gloom which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief
which often preys upon the heart.
Written by Frances Emily's father Alex. S. Judy.
Frances died at 32 yrs of age. Her youngest child Anna was 7 yrs
She was the mother of Parmelia Bowles
Susan Bowles
David Bowles
Anna Bowles
Liberty Weekly Tribune, Mar 1, 1861.The Liberty Tribune, Mar 1, 1861
Obituary.
Died in this county, February 16th, 1861, Mrs. Frances Bowles, wife of Stephen
D. Bowles, and daughter of Alex. Judy, Esq., and Susannah Sukey Bradley Judy in the 32nd year of her age.
No more shall the bitter winds, or the scorching sun, disturb her. She is
gone! Yes, she is gone to that distant land, where brightly shines the orb of
day; there to meet the bright, glowing angels, who will lead her to those
bowers on high, where endless pleasures and virtuous deeds are repayed. Before
she parted from us, it seemed as though Heaven had imprinted on her brow
something beyond this world ñ something which claims kindred with yonder skies.
Oh! that lovely smile, that tender look, that awakening and watchful eye, which
kept its fond vigil oíer her slumbering babe, is forever gone. He who could
enter an apartment, and behold the tender babe, feeding on its motherís beauty,
nourished by the tide of life, which flows through her generous veins, without
a panting bosom, and a sorrowful eye; is no man but a monster. This is an
object which neither the pen nor the chisel can touch; which poetry fails to
exalt; which the most eloquent tongue in vain would struggle at, and on which
all description becomes ineffective. Although under those circumstances I am
forced to write, and I would write, thoí my pen were doubly weak.
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
She had long been a member of the Old Baptist Church, and her career through
life had been one with which she had gained the affection of all who knew her.
She died with what the best physician deemed consumption; her sufferings were
unknown, although they were many; she bore them with unremitting fortitude, and
when the pangs of death were bearing heavy upon her fluttering heart, her last
words were, ìLet the will of God be done.î During her hours of illness, which
were many, she was treated with the most unlimited kindness and respect, by her
neighbors ñ which shall never be forgotten. She leaves a husband and four
children to mourn her loss. In his heart lies this lovely picture; it lives in
his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye looks around in vain for
such another object on earth. But alas! he cannot find it; he is left to share
its consequences. That lovely smile which once met us face to face, sis so
twined round our hearts, that they must cease to throb ere we forget it. We
can call up in long review the whole history of virtues and gentleness, and a
thousand other endearments which are lavished upon us almost unheeded in our
daily intercourse, but when we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful
tenderness of parting from one whom we loved so dearly; the bed of death which
all it agonies, its noiseless attendancies, its mute watchful assiduity, the
last testimonies of love expiring, the last fond look of that glaring eye,
turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence, that faint, fluttering
accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection.
Soft rebukes, in blessing ended,
Breathing from her lips of love.
Every past endearment is gone of that departed one, who can never, never return
to soothe the aching heart. Ah! who would not shed tears at such thoughts if
they ever had added one affectionate look to the eye, or a smile on the
silvered brow of an endeared sister. Not one, though he be a friend; now let
all who read these feeble lines contemplate upon their future days; we often
complain that we are unhappy; that we tread in a thorny path, and drink of a
bitter stream; but from whence do our sorrows flow? do they not, in a great
measure, proceed from our own selfish and poisoned hearts? Banish malice, envy
and hatred; let love towards each other prevail, and a great portion of our
human misery will fade away, like darkness before the rising sun; it will
dissipate the gloom which often clouds the countenance, and remove the grief
which often preys upon the heart.
Written by Frances Emily's father Alex. S. Judy.
Frances died at 32 yrs of age. Her youngest child Anna was 7 yrs
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