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Note: Died as baby. Died, at the residence of his parents, Thursday morning, August 15, 1889, at six o'clock, Ansel Meyer, in the eighth year of his age. The sad subject of this poor but loving tribute was the only son of Mr. Hop and Mrs. Alice Meyer, of Boyle county, Ky. He inherited all the good qualities of both parents, and especially of his Christian mother, and I must say all who knew the little man loved him. As I sat by his bedside a little while and bathed his feverish brow, I tried to catch and understand his words, for I felt they would soon be his last on earth, and when he failed to notice his little puppy and said, "I'm tired," and after awhile called, "Mamma! Mamma!" I thought I could see the angels in Heaven standing with the beautiful gates ajar, beckoning and awaiting his coming. I left him, and in a few hours the message came, "Ansel Meyer is dead." I said, "Not dead, only gone home, back to the Father who gave him." Once when I was to see him I heard his Aunt Fannie Meyer say, "Tell some one to put all of his things away, out of sight." Ah, no one knows but a mother who has lost her all how little good putting his things out of sight would do, for all the parents' eyes could see would breathe and speak of him. His living and dead presence is in everything. The very breeze will seem to them to murmur with a sigh his cherished name. It was beautiful and wonderful to me and to all to hear his gentle mother speak so calmly of his death. What perfect submission of a true Christian's heart in the will of her God. Yes, Jesus called and Ansel answered. Longfellow never wrote more truthful or touching poetry than that inspired poem entitled "Resignation." "There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there There is no fireside, hows.er defended, But has one vacant chair." What family is there that holds not a broken harp, the strings of which were one swept by little fingers now cold and pulseless, but whose hearts now make music in the heavenly choir. We know that it is well with Ansel, but that does not fill the void; we know that the Father doeth all things well, but there is a river that separates the petted idol and joy of the household from us, and we know that it will never be crossed from the hither side. The silver cord has been snapped and it will never be reunited on this side. How Pierpont must have suffered before he gave voice to that sad refrain: "I cannot make him dead, His fair, sunshiny head Is ever bounding 'round my study chair. Yet when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him. The vision vanishes -- he is not there. "I walk my parlor floor And through the open door I hear a foot fall on the chamber stair, And s epping toward the hall, I give the boy a call, And then bethink me that -- he is not there." Ah, well, it is for some good purpose that the angels of the household come and go. God knows all about it. I do not. A. K. E.
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