Smith, Minerva (Noble) 1840 – 1889

SMITH, NOBLE, FELLOWS

Posted By: Joy Moore (email)
Date: 11/10/2014 at 10:31:04

Iowa Plain Dealer December 19, 1889, P3 C4

DIED.

SMITH—In Cresco, Iowa, Tuesday afternoon, Dec. 17, 1889, of consumption, Minerva Noble Smith, wife of L. E. Smith, aged 49 years. Funeral at the house at 2 o’clock Friday.

Iowa Plain Dealer December 26, 1889, P2 C2&3

DIED.

SMITH—In Cresco, Iowa, Dec. 17, 1889, ofconsumption{sic} Mrs. Minerva Noble Smith, wife of Mr. L. E. Smith, aged 49 years, 3 months and 2 days.

We borrow the following matter from the TIMES of this week:

The funeral services were held at the house on Friday afternoon, 10th inst. Scripture reading and sermon, by Rev. A. S. McConnell, of the Congregational church; prayer by Rev. F. M. Colman, of the Methodist church; singing by a quartet consisting of Mr. Thos. J. Lomas, Mr. C. I. White, Mrs. M. M. Moon and Miss Edith Webster; Mrs. I. J. Booth organist.

She was buried in Oak Lawn cemetery.

The following relatives from abroad were present at the funeral: Mr. and Mrs. A. M. Fellows, her son-in-law and daughter (Elsie), of Lansing, Iowa; Mr. Geo. W. Noble, her brother, of Fredericksburg, Iowa; Mrs. C. E. Warner and daughter Miss Fannie her sister and niece, respectively, of Windsor, Wis.; and her sister-in-law, Miss Lucy M. Smith, of Lake Forest (Ill.) University.

The editor of the TIMES, who is thus bereft of a loving and previous wife, publishes the beautiful, sympathetic and appropriate address of her pastor, Rev. A. S. McConnell, in place of any words of his own.

The family extend their thanks to all the neighbors and friends who were so kind and helpful during her sickness and funeral.

FUNERAL ADDRESS.

By REV. A. S. MCCONNELL.

TO THE MEMORY OF
MRS. L. E. SMITH,
who died Dec. 17, 1889.

Mrs. Minerva Noble Smith, to whose memory these services are sacred to-day, was the daughter of Alanson and Eliza H. Noble. She was born in Floyd, Oneida county, New York, Sept. 15, 1840. The family moved to Beloit, Wis., when she was a young girl. She attended school at Beloit, Evansville Academy and Rockford Seminary. She was married at Beloit to Mr. Lathrop E. Smith, Feb. 18, 1863. At Beloit, in her eighteenth year, she united with the Methodist church the church home of her parents. The first few years of their married life Mr. and Mrs. Smith lived at Burlington, Wis., and there being no Methodist church there then, she united with the Congregational church, with which denomination she retained her connection the remainder of her life. Returning to Beloit, she and her husband united with the Congregational church there; bringing letters from that church to the Congregational church of Cresco when they settled here in 1873. Cresco has been their home ever since.

To lay our friends away in the grave is ever a most sorrowful task and painful trial. This blow, however, has fallen upon this family as gently as in the nature of the case it was possible for such a blow to fall. The shadow of death crept in very quietly and in the shadow these friends have been living day after day, month after month and year after year. Their minds long ago were prepared for the inevitable, and when death came at last they were not rudely alarmed. To them in their great bereavement we, the neighbors and friends of the dead mother, extend our heartfelt sympathies. It is indeed a sad affliction they have been called to meet; but we believe in the Father above who knows and pities all. To the consolations of His grace, and to His tender keeping we commit them, resting in the assurance that “He is a very present help in time of trouble.” And that they cannot drift far from His love and care. May their wounded hearts be healed, and through these cypress trees of gloom, may they see the stars of hope and faith, and be enabled at last to say, “It is well; God’s will be done.”

It is, at last, well with her. She is beyond the reach of pain. The long years of suffering are at last ended. She is at home in that building of God, the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens and her works do follow her.

Only a few days ago she sent for me and we had a long talk—as long as her feeble state would permit. She said: “When you come to my funeral I would rather you would not speak in my praise. Speak to the living, not of the dead. What you say of me will soon be forgotten. What you say to the living may do good.”

I shall respect her wishes as far as I can consistently do so. Those of you who knew her well need no reminder of her virtues, her kindness of heart, her generous sympathies, her unselfish devotion to her family and friends. How she made hosts of warm friends; how she so managed the affairs of her household as to make her home attractive and delightful; how carefully she watched over these children, guarding their moral, intellectual and spiritual interests; how her heart was ever open to the cry of need; how attached to her Christain{sp} faith, yet so generous toward all who differed from her;--all these things may truthfully be said to her praise.
Several years ago, by a vote of the Congregational church of Cresco, Mrs. Smith was made a deaconess, which office she continued to hold till her death though debarred during these later years on account of her feeble health, from active participation in the duties of her office. When her strength permitted she was faithful in her attendance at the sanctuary, interested in all church activities, and, until her health failed, a teacher and worker in our Sunday school. She was an earnest believer in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and her daily walk and conversation gave evidence that her religion was a vital reality. With calmness, precision and clearness of mind, she gave her last directions, set her house in order, and died in the triumphs of the Christian faith.

To speak, then, to the living; I am reminded of the duties of sick people. A word on this subject will, I trust, not be deemed inappropriate on this occasion. Sickness and suffering are among the hard facts of this earthly life and it becomes us to meet them in the right spirit. Our friend, Mrs. Smith, though suffering much during these recent years, and never strong at any time of her life, was not a murmurer and complainer. There is a right way and a wrong way of being sick. How many sick people there are who grow morbid over their infirmities, and who, if you go to visit them, pour into our ears a prolonged description of their maladies and sufferings. You do not, as a rule, like to hear such recitations. You make all allowance and listen with patience, for you know how the hearts of distressed people reach out to other hearts for sympathy.

But for a sick person—and indeed for any one sick or well—to grow into the morbid habit of continually talking about his discomfort and afflictions is surely conducive neither to happiness nor to recovery from sickness. It is, I think, a cious and useless habit. Our friends commonly know how we are situated and are ready to sympathize without a complete narrative of our troubles. Besides, the habit of complaining tends to discontentment and peevishness, thus imposing more of a burden on those who are kindly caring for us. I think, then, that if our dead friend could but hear me she would pardon me for saying she was a model sick person.

Another thing she told me: she said that though she had been sick so long and had so many days of suffering, she had tried to be cheerful and had always found something to laugh at. Now I verily believe that had it not been for this quality of seeing the pleasant side of things, the temperament that was all aglow with the sunshine of cheerfulness, this scene that we are enacting here today would have been enacted long ago. Cheerfulness, is God’s own tonic. To sick people the world seems dark at causes for discontentment and gloom. Nevertheless cheerfulness can be cultivated; the gloom can be thrown off, and if you will only look around you when you are sick, with a desire to extract some sweet from the bitter, and to see the silver lining of the cloud, you will be sure to discover something that will promote cheerfulness. The proprietors of one of our large newspapers sent out a reporter to interview some aged people and learn the secret of their long lives. One old woman—her years reaching nearly up to a century—ascribed her hearty old age to the habit, as she said, “of taking the world just as it comes and looking always at the bright side of things.” And why not? Note the old people of your acquaintance. I think you will find, as a rule, that they have never barred out the sunshine from their hearts. There are troubles enough in life to make it sad, but do not let the sadness develop into chronic moodiness. Mr. Beecher once said that God smiled and said “that’s good,” when he put humor into man. And it is good. It smoothes many a rough way and preserves the heart in pristine freshness.

As appropriate to the thought of this occasion I quote the following verses from Whittier’s “The Eternal Goodness”:

Yet, in the maddeninig{sp} maze of things,
And tossed by storm and flood,
To one fixed stake by spirit clings:
I know that God is good!

I long for household voices gone,
For vanished smiles I long,
But God hath led my dear ones on,
And He can do no wrong.

I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,
Assured alone that life and death
His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak.
To bear an untried pain.
The bruised reed He will not break,
But strengthen and sustain.

And so beside the Silent Sea
I wait the muffled oar,
No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift
Their fronded palms in air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care

Lastly: Our friend said to me that “her religious profession had been too much mingled with worldliness,” and that if she had her life to live over again she would order it differently. Whether her self-depreciation be just or not it is certain that her religious faith was a great help and comfort to her during her prolonged illness. It was truly her victory over death. A religious faith, friends, is not for the time of health alone—not simply for the days of sunshine and peace, but for the dark and stormy days, and for the nights of wrestling and pain. Let such be our faith, and as we go on through these years let us purge it of worldliness, making it clearer and brighter; then when the night cometh it shall be our everlasting victory.

Oak Lawn Cemetery
 

Howard Obituaries maintained by Constance McDaniel Hall.
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