The Francis A. Drexel Familiy

Marie Elisabeth, Letterhouse

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Monograph

Persistent identifier:: VLB0849485

Title:: The Francis A. Drexel Familiy

Shelfmark:: VOR-000--GSA-256-DREXE-Lette

Author:: Marie Elisabeth, Letterhouse

Place of publication:: Cornwells Heights

Publisher:: Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament

Document type:: Monograph

Collection:: Monografien

Copyright:: Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek

Chapter

Title:: Illness - Death of Mrs. Francis A. Drexel

Document type:: Monograph

Structure type:: Chapter

192 The Francis A. Drexel Family Those three years past, God called his child. To tread that golden way, Her rest is now, in Jesus' Heart, Hers—the Eternal day, That waneth not to night. So bright—all bright! — L. C. B.— Madison Ave. April 15/83 The "little book" to which Madame Bouvier refers and hopes Elizabeth may not deem her verses unworthy of the most obscure corner in it, is a collection of some few, of the many expressions of sympathy expressed by intimate friends, and persons of prominence to Mr. Drexel and his daughters, almost all rendering loving homage to the saintly life and truly Christ-like charity of the devoted wife and mother whom God had called unto Himself. Eleanor C. Donnelly too framed her tribute in rhyth mic lines. 534 Pine Street, Feb. 6th, 1883 My dear Miss Drexel, By a curious coincidence I had just completed a little tribute to the memory of your beloved mother, when those memorial cards reached me yesterday. I enclose the lines. I do not feel satisfied with them, as words seem so weak and inadequate to express my love, my deep, grateful reverence for that great soul, that noble, heroic saint whose departure has left a void which can never be filled in the abiding-place of all that is good and pure and beautiful! If God has refused to grant our fervent prayers that she might remain still longer among us,—it was because she was so inex pressibly dear and precious to His Sacred Heart that He could no longer refrain from clasping her close to that burning Source of love. If you wish to have the little poem printed in any form, you are at liberty to do so. I refrained from publishing it, moved by a feeling of delicacy, lest I should intrude, in that way, upon the sacred privacy of your sorrow. I therefore submit the matter en tirely to your own sweet judgment. It is my own little spray of

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