ARTIE DESMOND RUMBLE

RUMBLE, YOCUM, MUNN

Posted By: David (email)
Date: 12/13/2004 at 15:40:16

The Chariton Leader, Chariton, Iowa
Thursday, January 24, 1907

Once again it has so pleased the will of the Almighty Father to draw from
this world of sorrow a patient little soldier to join his children in peace
and happiness in the realms above. This time the home of G.L. RUMBLE and
family has been made most lonely and a vacancy has been made which God alone
can fill.

ARTIE DESMOND RUMBLE was born in this vicinity, June 25, 1895, and died at
the family home in Chariton, Jan. 17, 1907, at 12 o'clock p.m., aged 11
years, 6 months and 23 days. The deceased has been a long and patient
sufferer, having been afflicted with inflammatory rheumatism since he
reached the age of three, but he always tried to look on the bright side of
life and never gave up hope until the last. By his kind and manly ways he
had endeared himself to a large number of friends and his mourners are
numbered by his acquaintances.

His death came almost without warning, and his brother EARL, who was in
Omaha, could not reach him before he passed away. He was attended by
Doctors Yocom and Boynton at the last and everything was done that kind
friends and loving hands could do, but his time had come and he was not
afraid to go. Largely attended funeral services were held at the family
home Sunday, the 20th, at 2 p.m., conducted by Rev. Munn of the United
Presbyterian Church, and the remains were laid at rest in the vault in the
Chariton Cemetery.

The deceased leaves a father and mother and three brothers to mourn his
death and a large number of friends will sympathize with them in this sad
bereavement.

As the bud was bursting open

All its beauties to display,

Leaving us with hearts most broken,

Little Artie passed away.

Body sleeping in the graveyard

In a bed of heavy clay;

Spirit gone to dwell with angels,

Happy all the endless day.

Oh, the home seems cold and cheerless

Since we laid his form away;

While we miss his manly footstep,

And his loving, gentle ways.

But some day we hope to meet him,

Clasp his hand on yonder shore,

For we hear a voice repeating,

"He's not dead, but gone before."
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Copied by Nancee(McMurtrey)Seifert
November 27, 2004
iggy29@rnetinc.net