Lindley, Mary L. Pickens - Obituary May 1915 Progress Examiner, Orleans, Indiana
(Submitted by Paula Lindley-Butler)
Mary Pickens Lindley was born Jan. 23, 1891; died May 19, 1915, at the Deaconess Hospital, Indianapolis; aged 24 years, three months and 26 days. Mary, as she was familiarly known, had been a consant sufferer for six months, from a tumor which made a pressure on the brain, causing a pain which all medical aid failed to relieve.
Mary Pickens was married to Norman Lindley May 7, 1909. To this union two boys were born - Damon, age five years, and Paul, age three years. She leaves a husband, father, mother, one brother, one sister and a host of relatives and friends to mourn; yet we do not mourn as one without hope, for she left us with full assurance of a home in Heaven where we can meet again and where partings and goodbyes never come.
Mary became concerned about her soul at the age of fourteen years and joined church, and was baptized under the ministry of her uncle, John Marshall, and later she, with her husband, united with the U. B. Church at Union, where they lived and always attended church and Sabbath School as long as Mary was able to go. The last words to her husband were, "I'm trusting the Lord for the best." With this parting thought, if Mary must go, it is a comfort to know that her sufferings are all over.
We gave to the tomb in our sorrow
The precious inanimate clay
Of our long-suffering wife and mother,
On that beautiful spring day of May;
And we lingered to pay the last tribute
That affectionate hearts can bestow,
And the evening smiled at our labors
While Heavenly balm soothed our woe.
For we know that the Savior before her
Had passed and triumphantly risen
To become the first fruits of the sleepers,
And to burst the strong bars of earthly prison.
The roses and lilies in silence,
The fragrance and beauty foretold,
Of the Heavenly land where the future
Our possessions to us will enfold.
And the warbling of sweet-toned songsters,
As they sang their spring-time lays,
Undisturbed at the sepulchre's doorway,
Betokened the christians praise.
Being dead, yet in spirit she speaketh
To her loved ones, whose hearts bleed today:
As I am, so you must be;
Go forth to your work while 'tis day.
The Master will presently summon,
One after another, till all
Shall have passed through death's narrow portals,
And sleepeth 'neath some funeral pall.
Then order your lives for the future:
Let each day so account
That men may seek Him you're trusting,
And be led to the life-giving fount.
To you, my devoted companion;
My darling and heart-broken one
I leave the fondest of blessings,
And a prayer that this present life
May grow richer, more loving and purer,
For the work that to you yet remains,
For none know the worth of a mother
nor how her stong influence restrains.
The steps of the sons and daughters
Of the motherless when sorely tried,
And the All-Father's promise is steadfast
To protect you whatever betide.
Farewell to the scenes of a lifetime,
Where efforts were earnest, though frail;
The haven at last greets my vision,
Anchored safely within the veil.