Elizabeth Shupe was an inhabitant of the township of Waterloo, in the District of Gore, Upper Canada, where she resided with her family until the day of her death. The time of her living in that place, was something like twenty-four years, which about one-half of that time, in the latter part of her life, she lived in a state of widowhood with her children. The following poem is a true and short history of her holy life and death. The late Elizabeth departed this mortal life, March 21, 1825; and the following remarks were made a few days after her death, by JOHN A. CORNELL, an intimate acquaintance with her person, life, death and character, who had the great satisfaction to preach her funeral sermon to a numerous concourse of people, from the following words, taken from Heb. 4:9, "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God."
Ye nations of the earth give ear
To what I here relate;
Your Maker learn to love and fear,
Prepare to leave this state.
The sacred truth I now indite,
God print it in your minds;
Strong memory on your hearts to write,
With letters more divine.
Oh! cruel death, how dreadful bold,
He bears a mighty sway;
He calls away both young and old,
To long eternity.
The Lord his messenger did send,
The Widow Shoop hath died,
She was the poor, the orphan's friend,
Likewise the Pilgrim's guide.
Religion is a glorious prop,
Surely it is the best:
We have a consolating hope,
Her soul has gone to rest.
She was a soldier of the cross,
Her duty she'd fulfill;
No toil, no pain she counted loss,
To do her Master's will.
The church of God, she lov'd to meet,
To see her brethren there;
That they might fall at Jesus' feet
And join in holy prayer.
The place of praise, the house of prayer,
It was her chief delight;
She was a constant member there,
She kept the end in sight.
She never left the house of God,
But like Anna of old;
She marked the steps her Savior trod,
Bro't fruit an hundred fold.
Her heart to church and God was true,
Her soul was sanctified;
Her happy spirit never knew,
What it was to backslide.
That hateful sin. call'd dressy pride,
Her soul it did abhor;
Such vain and foolish sins as these,
She kept at open war.
What others took to paint their clay,
And dress their bodies fine;
Unto the poor she gave away,
To cheer the feeble mind;
The lame, the sick, naked and poor,
They were her constant care --
Were always welcome at her door,
With her they had a share.
She often borrowed of the rich,
To give it to the poor:
Her love and charity was such,
She gave them all her store.
She laid her own advantage by,
To do the needy good;
Yet all her hopes they did rely,
Upon her Savior's blood.
Third of March she was taken ill,
And to her bed confin'd ;
Yet to her heavenly Father's will,
Appeared to be resigned.
She seemed to think her morning sun,
Was then about to set;
She thank'd the Lord her work was done,
In Christ was made complete.
While she could use her feeble tongue,
Her Maker she ador'd;
By exhorting both old and young,
To seek and serve the Lord.
Her friends and children she did teach;
From Scripture truth was drawn,
Hoping her words would louder preach,
When she was dead and gone.
Twenty-first of March, on that day,
She bid this world adieu;
Her longing spirit left its clay,
The age of sixty-two.
At God's great and sovereign will,
Resigned her fleeting breath,
Without a doubt, without a fear,
She pass'd the gates of death.
She bid the church farewell below,
To join the church above;
Where all the happy spirits go,
To sing Redeeming Love.
Come sick, come Christians mourn your loss
Of your departed friend;
And learn to bear an equal cross,
As she unto the end.
Oft at her tomb, my heart shall rove,
To drop a sacred tear;
In token of that Christian love,
While she was with us here.
Whatever we may count our loss,
Shall be her greatest gain;
She now can say, farewell to cross,
Farewell to grief and pain.
A life so holy, true, and just,
Example so divine;
Must not be buried in the dust—
Before the world must shine.
Now I'll refrain, why should I weep?
Since she has gone to rest;
She's only laid her down to sleep,
Upon her Savior's breast.
Ye nations of the earth give ear
To what I here relate;
Your Maker learn to love and fear,
Prepare to leave this state.
The sacred truth I now indite,
God print it in your minds;
Strong memory on your hearts to write,
With letters more divine.
Oh! cruel death, how dreadful bold,
He bears a mighty sway;
He calls away both young and old,
To long eternity.
The Lord his messenger did send,
The Widow Shoop hath died,
She was the poor, the orphan's friend,
Likewise the Pilgrim's guide.
Religion is a glorious prop,
Surely it is the best:
We have a consolating hope,
Her soul has gone to rest.
She was a soldier of the cross,
Her duty she'd fulfill;
No toil, no pain she counted loss,
To do her Master's will.
The church of God, she lov'd to meet,
To see her brethren there;
That they might fall at Jesus' feet
And join in holy prayer.
The place of praise, the house of prayer,
It was her chief delight;
She was a constant member there,
She kept the end in sight.
She never left the house of God,
But like Anna of old;
She marked the steps her Savior trod,
Bro't fruit an hundred fold.
Her heart to church and God was true,
Her soul was sanctified;
Her happy spirit never knew,
What it was to backslide.
That hateful sin. call'd dressy pride,
Her soul it did abhor;
Such vain and foolish sins as these,
She kept at open war.
What others took to paint their clay,
And dress their bodies fine;
Unto the poor she gave away,
To cheer the feeble mind;
The lame, the sick, naked and poor,
They were her constant care --
Were always welcome at her door,
With her they had a share.
She often borrowed of the rich,
To give it to the poor:
Her love and charity was such,
She gave them all her store.
She laid her own advantage by,
To do the needy good;
Yet all her hopes they did rely,
Upon her Savior's blood.
Third of March she was taken ill,
And to her bed confin'd ;
Yet to her heavenly Father's will,
Appeared to be resigned.
She seemed to think her morning sun,
Was then about to set;
She thank'd the Lord her work was done,
In Christ was made complete.
While she could use her feeble tongue,
Her Maker she ador'd;
By exhorting both old and young,
To seek and serve the Lord.
Her friends and children she did teach;
From Scripture truth was drawn,
Hoping her words would louder preach,
When she was dead and gone.
Twenty-first of March, on that day,
She bid this world adieu;
Her longing spirit left its clay,
The age of sixty-two.
At God's great and sovereign will,
Resigned her fleeting breath,
Without a doubt, without a fear,
She pass'd the gates of death.
She bid the church farewell below,
To join the church above;
Where all the happy spirits go,
To sing Redeeming Love.
Come sick, come Christians mourn your loss
Of your departed friend;
And learn to bear an equal cross,
As she unto the end.
Oft at her tomb, my heart shall rove,
To drop a sacred tear;
In token of that Christian love,
While she was with us here.
Whatever we may count our loss,
Shall be her greatest gain;
She now can say, farewell to cross,
Farewell to grief and pain.
A life so holy, true, and just,
Example so divine;
Must not be buried in the dust—
Before the world must shine.
Now I'll refrain, why should I weep?
Since she has gone to rest;
She's only laid her down to sleep,
Upon her Savior's breast.
Elizabeth Shupe was an inhabitant of the township of Waterloo, in the District of Gore, Upper Canada, where she resided with her family until the day of her death. The time of her living in that place, was something like twenty-four years, which about one-half of that time, in the latter part of her life, she lived in a state of widowhood with her children. The following poem is a true and short history of her holy life and death. The late Elizabeth departed this mortal life, March 21, 1825; and the following remarks were made a few days after her death, by JOHN A. CORNELL, an intimate acquaintance with her person, life, death and character, who had the great satisfaction to preach her funeral sermon to a numerous concourse of people, from the following words, taken from Heb. 4:9, "There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God."
Ye nations of the earth give ear
To what I here relate;
Your Maker learn to love and fear,
Prepare to leave this state.
The sacred truth I now indite,
God print it in your minds;
Strong memory on your hearts to write,
With letters more divine.
Oh! cruel death, how dreadful bold,
He bears a mighty sway;
He calls away both young and old,
To long eternity.
The Lord his messenger did send,
The Widow Shoop hath died,
She was the poor, the orphan's friend,
Likewise the Pilgrim's guide.
Religion is a glorious prop,
Surely it is the best:
We have a consolating hope,
Her soul has gone to rest.
She was a soldier of the cross,
Her duty she'd fulfill;
No toil, no pain she counted loss,
To do her Master's will.
The church of God, she lov'd to meet,
To see her brethren there;
That they might fall at Jesus' feet
And join in holy prayer.
The place of praise, the house of prayer,
It was her chief delight;
She was a constant member there,
She kept the end in sight.
She never left the house of God,
But like Anna of old;
She marked the steps her Savior trod,
Bro't fruit an hundred fold.
Her heart to church and God was true,
Her soul was sanctified;
Her happy spirit never knew,
What it was to backslide.
That hateful sin. call'd dressy pride,
Her soul it did abhor;
Such vain and foolish sins as these,
She kept at open war.
What others took to paint their clay,
And dress their bodies fine;
Unto the poor she gave away,
To cheer the feeble mind;
The lame, the sick, naked and poor,
They were her constant care --
Were always welcome at her door,
With her they had a share.
She often borrowed of the rich,
To give it to the poor:
Her love and charity was such,
She gave them all her store.
She laid her own advantage by,
To do the needy good;
Yet all her hopes they did rely,
Upon her Savior's blood.
Third of March she was taken ill,
And to her bed confin'd ;
Yet to her heavenly Father's will,
Appeared to be resigned.
She seemed to think her morning sun,
Was then about to set;
She thank'd the Lord her work was done,
In Christ was made complete.
While she could use her feeble tongue,
Her Maker she ador'd;
By exhorting both old and young,
To seek and serve the Lord.
Her friends and children she did teach;
From Scripture truth was drawn,
Hoping her words would louder preach,
When she was dead and gone.
Twenty-first of March, on that day,
She bid this world adieu;
Her longing spirit left its clay,
The age of sixty-two.
At God's great and sovereign will,
Resigned her fleeting breath,
Without a doubt, without a fear,
She pass'd the gates of death.
She bid the church farewell below,
To join the church above;
Where all the happy spirits go,
To sing Redeeming Love.
Come sick, come Christians mourn your loss
Of your departed friend;
And learn to bear an equal cross,
As she unto the end.
Oft at her tomb, my heart shall rove,
To drop a sacred tear;
In token of that Christian love,
While she was with us here.
Whatever we may count our loss,
Shall be her greatest gain;
She now can say, farewell to cross,
Farewell to grief and pain.
A life so holy, true, and just,
Example so divine;
Must not be buried in the dust—
Before the world must shine.
Now I'll refrain, why should I weep?
Since she has gone to rest;
She's only laid her down to sleep,
Upon her Savior's breast.
Ye nations of the earth give ear
To what I here relate;
Your Maker learn to love and fear,
Prepare to leave this state.
The sacred truth I now indite,
God print it in your minds;
Strong memory on your hearts to write,
With letters more divine.
Oh! cruel death, how dreadful bold,
He bears a mighty sway;
He calls away both young and old,
To long eternity.
The Lord his messenger did send,
The Widow Shoop hath died,
She was the poor, the orphan's friend,
Likewise the Pilgrim's guide.
Religion is a glorious prop,
Surely it is the best:
We have a consolating hope,
Her soul has gone to rest.
She was a soldier of the cross,
Her duty she'd fulfill;
No toil, no pain she counted loss,
To do her Master's will.
The church of God, she lov'd to meet,
To see her brethren there;
That they might fall at Jesus' feet
And join in holy prayer.
The place of praise, the house of prayer,
It was her chief delight;
She was a constant member there,
She kept the end in sight.
She never left the house of God,
But like Anna of old;
She marked the steps her Savior trod,
Bro't fruit an hundred fold.
Her heart to church and God was true,
Her soul was sanctified;
Her happy spirit never knew,
What it was to backslide.
That hateful sin. call'd dressy pride,
Her soul it did abhor;
Such vain and foolish sins as these,
She kept at open war.
What others took to paint their clay,
And dress their bodies fine;
Unto the poor she gave away,
To cheer the feeble mind;
The lame, the sick, naked and poor,
They were her constant care --
Were always welcome at her door,
With her they had a share.
She often borrowed of the rich,
To give it to the poor:
Her love and charity was such,
She gave them all her store.
She laid her own advantage by,
To do the needy good;
Yet all her hopes they did rely,
Upon her Savior's blood.
Third of March she was taken ill,
And to her bed confin'd ;
Yet to her heavenly Father's will,
Appeared to be resigned.
She seemed to think her morning sun,
Was then about to set;
She thank'd the Lord her work was done,
In Christ was made complete.
While she could use her feeble tongue,
Her Maker she ador'd;
By exhorting both old and young,
To seek and serve the Lord.
Her friends and children she did teach;
From Scripture truth was drawn,
Hoping her words would louder preach,
When she was dead and gone.
Twenty-first of March, on that day,
She bid this world adieu;
Her longing spirit left its clay,
The age of sixty-two.
At God's great and sovereign will,
Resigned her fleeting breath,
Without a doubt, without a fear,
She pass'd the gates of death.
She bid the church farewell below,
To join the church above;
Where all the happy spirits go,
To sing Redeeming Love.
Come sick, come Christians mourn your loss
Of your departed friend;
And learn to bear an equal cross,
As she unto the end.
Oft at her tomb, my heart shall rove,
To drop a sacred tear;
In token of that Christian love,
While she was with us here.
Whatever we may count our loss,
Shall be her greatest gain;
She now can say, farewell to cross,
Farewell to grief and pain.
A life so holy, true, and just,
Example so divine;
Must not be buried in the dust—
Before the world must shine.
Now I'll refrain, why should I weep?
Since she has gone to rest;
She's only laid her down to sleep,
Upon her Savior's breast.
Family Members
Spouse
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See more Shupe or Diefenbach memorials in:
- First Mennonite Cemetery Shupe or Diefenbach
- Kitchener Shupe or Diefenbach
- Waterloo Regional Municipality Shupe or Diefenbach
- Ontario Shupe or Diefenbach
- Canada Shupe or Diefenbach
- Find a Grave Shupe or Diefenbach
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