Harlan B. Fancher

Last Thursday night this community was startled by the news that Harlan B. Fancher, aged six months, was dead. He had been ailing for a week but no one had any idea he was so bad. He was buried on Saturday. The parents, who have the sympathy of all, wish to thank their friends and neighbors for kindly assistance during their trying ordeal.

Dear little hands! I loved them So!
And now they're lying under the snow;
Under the snow, so cold and white,
I cannot see them or touch them tonight.
They are quiet and still at last, O me!
How busy and restless they used to be!
But now they can never reach up through the snow,
Dear little hands, I loved them so!

Dear little hands, I miss them so!
All through the day, wherever I go;
All through the night how lonely it seems,
For no little hands wake me out of my dreams.
I miss them all through the weary hours;
I miss them as others miss sunshine and flowers;
Daytime or night-time, wherever I go,
Dear little hands, I miss them so!

Dear little hands, they have gone from me now,
Never again will they rest on my brow;
Never again smooth my sorrowful face,
Never clasp me in childish embrace,
And now my forehead grows wrinkled with care,
Thinking of little hands once resting there;
But I know in a happier, heavenlier clime,
Dear little hands, I will clasp you sometime.

Dear little hands, when the Master shall call,
I'll welcome the summons that comes to us all;
When my feet touch the waters so dark and so cold,
And I catch my first glimpse of the city of gold,
If I keep my eyes fixed on the heavenly gate,
Over the way where the white robed ones wait,
Shall I know you, I wonder, among the bright bands?
Will you beck me over, O dear little hands?

This article, published in the Converse County Herald, is courtesy of the Wyoming Newspaper Project.

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