The Church and Cemetery Records of Hanover, Mass: History and records of the First Congregational Church, Hanover, Mass., 1727-1865, and inscriptions from the headstones and tombs in the cemetery at Centre Hanover, Mass., 1727-1894 (Google eBook)
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
History and Records of the First Congregational Church, Hanover, Mass., 1727 ...
Lloyd Vernon Briggs
No preview available - 2008
Abigail Amos Anna April 12 August Bailey Barstow Bass Benj Benja Betty born Caleb child Congregational Church Curtis Curtiss Cushing daughter of Benjamin daughter of John daughter of Joseph daughter of Joshua daughter of Samuel daughter of Thomas David Deacon Deborah December died April died Aug died Dec died Feb died Jan died July Died June died Nov died Oct died Sept Dwelly dyed Eells Elijah Elisha Elizabeth Feby Gideon Hannah Hatch House Huldah Isaac Cook James January Jany Joseph Ramsdale Josiah Josselyn July 14 July 22 June 14 June 26 Junr Lemuel Lucy Lydia Mann March March 13 March 29 Margaret Martha Nathanael November Novr October pastor Pembroke Perry Pratt profession Rachel Rebecca Revd Robbins Robert Ruth Ruth Curtis Ruth Turner Sarah Scituate Sepr September Seth Stetson Stockbridge Studley Sylvester Timothy Torrey Voted Whiting died Widow William Witherell yrs 4 mos
Page 259 - Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on his breast I lean my head, And breathe my life out sweetly there.
Page 253 - The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.
Page 258 - WHY do we mourn departing friends, Or shake at death's alarms? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends To call them to his arms.
Page 236 - A precious one from us has gone, A voice we loved is stilled; A place is vacant in our home, Which never can be filled.
Page 239 - Or the last watch of ending night. 4 Death, like an overflowing stream, Sweeps us away : our life's a dream ; An empty tale ; a morning flower, Cut down and wither'd in an hour.
Page 219 - HOW vain are all things here below ! How false and yet how fair ! Each pleasure hath its poison too, And every sweet a snare.
Page 259 - FRIEND after friend departs : Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest.
Page 302 - Virtues loved to dwell. Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity, were there. In agony, in death resign'd, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant Image here below Sits smiling on a Father's woe : Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along the lonely vale of days ? A Pang, to secret sorrow...