Martha A. Gurnee

Death notice appeared on Jan. 14, 1860. Full obituary on January 21, 1860.

In Nyack, on the 11th inst., of Consumption, Martha A., wife of Mr. Alfred Gurnee aged 27 years, 8 months and 15 days.
The brief announcement in our issue of last week, of the death ol Mrs. Martha A. Gurnee carried with it into the large circle of her friends and acquaintances feelings ot the meet profound sorrow and regret, Widely known, and widely beloved in the community for her exalted christian character and her amiability and gentleness of heart, it seems but proper that something more than a simple announccment of her death should follow her entrance into life. Though yet in tha, freshness and beauty of youth, she had lived long enough to exemplify thsse rare beauties af christian character which, fonnd once in their perfection in the meek and lovely Savior, have since, alas for humanity, so seldom found as illustration in his professing followers. Endowed by nature with a gentle, kind and tender disposition, she was equally gifted with a clear and vigorous mind. Over these religion shed its softening and chastening influences, forming a character as lovely as rare. Daring the last ten years of her life. she was a worthy and consistant member of the Presbyterian church in this village. When the Sabbath came, whoever else might be absent, her place was always filled—her beautiful voice was always heard mingling in tbe songs of Zion. Gifted with an unusually sweet and musical voice, she was, for years, a principal in the choir, bearing her part in the hymns of praise, till warned by increasing weakness and the admonitions of her physician, to desist. We have seldom known a character more lovely in all the relations of life. It seems but as yesterday that we saw her passing through our streets a young girl,as modest and as gentle as she was beautiful. As a wife and mother calm and dignified—as a christian, more beautiful than all. During her last illness she bore her suffering. which at times were exquisite, with unshrinking fortitude. Though wanting nothing as far as this worlds goods were concerned yet she seems to have enjoyed such clear views of the better world, that like Paul, they faded in the contrast, and her desire was to depart that she might be with Christ, her beloved and friend. As she drew near those dark waters, whose tremulous roar had so long been sounding in her ears, the Savior grew more precious, and her faith became more strong. Her last expressions were of triumph, ber last look was irradiated with the beams of tha Son of Righteousness. Her lore for the Redeemer was that perfect love that casteth out all fear Seldom is it permitted to a mortal to pass into tbe valley with such unwavering strength. But to her there was no darkness in it, for the Lamb was the light thereof. She knew in whom she believed, ami with a perfect, childlike faith she committed all into his hands, in whom her very life was hid. Beautiful as was her life through the exercise of christian virtue, her death was no less so Precious in the sight of God are the lives of all his saints—no less precious are their deaths. Their influence lives after them and their very memory is blessed. The following lines addressed to her husband were written within a few days of her decease. Lines to My Husband Alfred, dear husband, so soon must we part, Must death come between us, and tear heart from heart. Must hopes we have cherished be throws to the winds Of old age passed together till scenes here shall end. Oh, heart, cease thy struggling, or more thou will break, And death claim thee sooner, cease, cease for loves sake, While I tell to my husband, how fondly and well I have loved the few rears we together did dwell Of evenings I spent in our little back room. And listened for footsteps I knew Would Seme soon The wintry wind whistles and chilly's the bleat, I hear him. he is coming, he is here as last; He says 'Oh how cozy and pleasant ti's here, The nights very cold and some suffer I fear." It was pleasant, my husband, to have you come home, You will think of it often in years yet to come; You'll come in just the same, but I'll not be there— Another, perhaps, may then sit m my chair; ' But you will think of me then, Oh, I know it so well, You'll think of some story I'd always to tell, Of our dear little boy sleeping by our bedside ln his own little cot—our hope and our pride. But they say, I must die. and God surely knows best When to call his dear children home to their own rest. 'Tis my Father who calls me, he calls in love, To come and dwell with him in mansions above, Where Spirits washed white in tho blood of the Lamb, Are singing forever, " Praise ! Praise! to his name!" And shall I not go to that bright happy home, ' Where sorrow, and sin, and parting nee'r come, Where hunger and thirsting are never more known, To that happy, bright band who bow sit round the throne? For theres a clear stream whose sweet gentle flow. Makes glad all the city of God and I know That tears shall there surely be wiped from all eyes, And heavenly hosannas like incense shall rise, Though my song is hushed here, shall I not sing there ? May I, may I enter a mansion ao fair Pray, that when through the valley of shadows I go, That the cold and dark waves shall not overflow ! Pray, that triumphant o'er Death I shall rise, And dwell with my Savior beyond tho bright skies! There'll be no night there, but I want you to come, And I'll watch for you there in my heavenly home, For part of the pleasures of Heaven, I know, Will be to meet all we have loved here below. Teach, teach our dear boy, tbe high road to heaven, Pray, pray that our sins may all be forgiven, Till united we'll be in that bright home above, And sing tha sweet song of a dear Savior's love.
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