John Newberry Sheffield (1873-1915)

SHEFFIELD, WALKER, PAGELS, FERGUSON

Posted By: Dorian Myhre (email)
Date: 4/29/2024 at 10:43:07

From Story City Herald May 20, 1915 (page 5)

OBITUARY

John N. Sheffield

Once again we are reminded that the Angel of Death is ever hovering about; once again we are brought face to face with the stern sad uncertainty of time when we shall be separated from the things which have to do with our temporal welfare in order that we may render an account of our lives before the great Tribunal of Justice.

We have just been called upon to mourn the loss of a young man whose name stands for all the true and noble qualities of a loving husband and brother, and whose every word and act were emblematic of those fundamental principles which go to build up the true spirit of fraternal and family brotherhood.

In the death of John Sheffield, his home church, his council and the community lose one whose true worth can never be portrayed by vain words of praise. The deceased was born June 9, 1873, at Story City on a farm five miles south east of Story City where he lived continuously until about two months ago when with his wife and brothers moved to Swea City. At the time of his death John had attained the age of 41 years, 11 months and 8 days. In the presence of his wife his earthly career having closed Wednesday night, April 28, 1915, at Rochester, Minn. He was preceded to the "Home Beyond" by his parents who died several years ago.

A little over a year ago John was married to Miss Gertrude Walker of North Platte, Neb., who survives to mourn his loss with his two brothers, Charles and Milton, and two sisters, Mrs. Pagels and Mrs. Ferguson of Indiana. This sad shock is doubly hard for the relatives to bear tho, it may often seem that we are forced to drink too deeply of the dregs of bitterest woe, and tho we may, at times be ready to cry out against such affliction, let us ever hold up before us the memory that Rev. Father Reiner so eloquently portrayed at the funeral services.

A large concourse of people assembled at the church and accompanied the remains to the Sheffield cemetery.

The stricken relatives cannot frame words which will express their appreciation to the extent which their friends and kind neighbors so willingly assisted in making the burden lighter for them to bear, but nevertheless they wish it understood that the memory of these many kind deeds will never grow dim so long life exists. Though the pangs of sorrow sink deeply into the hearts of his dear ones, what more consoling thoughts is there that that which runneth thus:

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment and not sorrow, is our destined end or way; but to act that each tomorrow, find us farther than today.

Art is long and time is fleeting,
And our hearts the stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead;
Act, act in the living present,
Heart within, and God o'erhead. --(G. S.)