Morin - Rachel
Source: Crawfordsville Weekly Journal Thursday, 1 January 1874
Rachel Morin, wife of Milton Morin, of Sugar Creek Township, Montgomery County, Indiana, was born March 8, 1835, and died December 25, 1873. On Saturday, December 28, her funeral sermon was preached at her late residence by Rev. Jesse S. Woodard to a large congregation of friends and relatives after which her remains were conveyed to the cemetery near Silas Patterson’s. She united with the Methodist Episcopal Church January, 1854, at McKendree Church, and was converted at Campbell’s Chapel in 1857, and maintained a consistent Christian character until death. Her life was an illustrious proof of the holy regenerating and sustaining power of the spirit.
Rachel made her memory precious to all her friends by her kindness and faithfulness in all the duties of life. During the last two years of her life she was a constant sufferer, but bore all her afflictions in meek submission to the divine will. She died in peace and gospel triumph.
She leaves a husband and five children to mourn their loss. Ah! Milton you can realize the truth that Rachel is dead. Day after day you have been watching the progress of her disease, ministering to her wants, and endeavoring to mitigate her pain, while your own heart throbbed in sympathy with her protracted sufferings. Now she rests but it is costing you this bitter severance. A swift review of your married life is glorified with tenderness and nobleness—everything of which you was blessed while with her. You are reckoning each last act and word—the last drive into town—the last walk in the yard—the last time at the table—the last song—the last prayer for you and the children—and more than all the rest, her expressions of faith and holy hope in Christ as her Redeemer and full salvation, those last utterances on her dying bed and her last directions in regard to the children. Parted! No relief is found in the thought of life where she may not come. Bring the children, cover her brow with kisses and weep together. O, afflicted, tempest tossed one, be comforted. How strong her faith, how steady her zeal, how patient her spirit, amid the toils and sacrifices of her lot. Tears roll down your cheeks as these reflections go on, for now it seems to you that her existence was spent in one continual service for her family. Gone! The perplexities of the future press upon you. The motherless children—the darkened home—the curtain of life is so thin you almost listen for a voice from the unseen beyond. You can scarcely weep, for the stunning force of this blow is bewildering you, but we hear you whisper, “Rachel was a good woman. It will not be long until I will be with her.” Bring the light where the stream is narrow and on the further shore lies the inheritance incorruptible, where the sun shall no more go down, neither shall the moon withdraw itself for the Lord shall be they everlasting light, and the days of they mourning shall be ended. -- John Mitchett