submitted by Neal Carter, October 13, 2007


MARGARET A. HOLMES, who died at Eureka Springs, Arkansas, on Saturday, Jan. 21st, 1893, of typhoid pneumonia, was born and raised in Muscatine county, Iowa, where she was well and favorably known. At the time of her death she was a little over 38 years old. About 13 years of her life had been spent in teaching and while she was very successful in the various departments in which she taught, it is very probable that her greatest success was in the primary department, where she seemed by nature so well adapted to the work of training and directing aright the minds of the children, who invariably became attached to her. She seemed to have a supernatural power over them in government, for while mild and kind she always had her school completely under control.

Her death in a far-away country was a shock to all who knew her. The funeral exercises were at her old home in Goshen township, on Wednesday, Jan. 25th, and were presided over by Rev. Mr. Parvin, assisted by Rev. Mr. McAuley, of Wilton, and Mr. Langfit, of West Liberty. The Atalissa choir sang three beautiful and appropriate hymns. Miss Jessie Cook sang a solo entitled “Flee as a Bird.” At the request of the family Mr. E. U. Cook read a poem entitled “Thou Art Dead.” The coffin was richly decked with flowers contributed by loving friends at Eureka Springs, as well as at her home in this county. Flowers of every shade and hue were woven into anchors, cresents, sickles and wreaths, and bedecked the coffin on the inside as well as out. Festoons of cedar and evergreen were profuse and draped the alcove in which the coffin was placed, and all was done that loving hearts and wiling hands could do to show the tender regard in which she was held by all. The funeral procession that followed the remains to the Timberlake cemetery was one of the largest that has been witnessed here for many years.---COM.


Oh, can it be sister that thou art no more?
Shall we never meet thee again as before?
These thoughts do occur to us o’er and o’er,
For thou art dead.

We miss thy sweet laugh and thy sparkling eye’
We mourn for thee, sister, in sorrow do sigh,
Oh, could we but meet thee sometime bye, and bye,
But thou art dead.

Thy chair now is vacant and vacant thy room,
We miss thee dear sister and deep is the gloom,
For thou wert a flower that was always in bloom,
And thou art dead.


Ere long I will lay in the grave ‘neath the sod,
And soon the wild flowers above me will nod,
But I am alive and up here with my God,
I am not dead.

My body, no doubt, will soon moulder away,
Be mixed with the earth and be changed into clay,
While I am enjoying an eternal day.
I am not dead.

And when by my grave you do sit and do weep,
And day after day constant vigils do keep.
Please think of the joys of the one that’s asleep.
I am not dead.

Hence, dry all those tears from your much swollen eyes,
For when we have met up above in the skies,
We’ll be reunited by much stronger ties.
I am not dead.

And while your hearts with deep sorrow do swell,
The peace that I have up above where I dwell,
Is one of which words are too feeble to tell.
I am not dead.

And I love you yet with a sweet, tender love,
But my spirit has flown away like the dove,
And gone to reside with a loved one above.
I am not dead.

Though bitter your nights and as bitter your days,
It is unto God should be given the praise,
For wisdom displayed in his merciful ways.
I am not dead.

Away, amongst strangers far off and above,
Like a dove my spirit above you has flown,
And I am now dwelling with God near the throne.
I am not dead.

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