In Memory of an Old Servant.

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We span continents with steel rails, and set the white sails of commerce on every sea. We measure the distance to the fixed stars and foretell the courses and velocity of revolving worlds. Yet with all this power and knowledge we cannot measure the short duration of human existence, for Death “cometh like a thief in the night.” He sends no herald, and awaits no delay.

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“We know when worlds shall wane

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea;

When Autumn’s hue shall tinge the golden grain;

But who shall teach us when to look for thee?”

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Yet to the prepared soul it matters not. The “well done” is the crown of life. So long as man dwells on earth life is but a fragment. The close may seal his work with the benediction of fruition.

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Lucinda Floyd, colored, for more than seventy-five years a resident of this town, has gone from earth to her home beyond the stars. Her career, finished in honor and radiant with faith, has become a complete power and an everlasting possession. For fifty years she was a slave and companion in the family of the late Stewart Floyd, and at his death she became the main-stay and dependence of his widow and little children, between her and whom there existed a love and respect as pure and unselfish as ever flowed from human hearts. After the late war she continued to live with and serve her former mistress, until the latter ceased to keep house, and then she became a servant and housekeeper for Mrs. F. C. Foster who she, as a slave, had nursed. Emancipation brought no change in the relationship which she sustained to her mistress, and after the death of the latter, to her children-she continued to live with them, as servant and companion to the day of her death, just as she had done as a slave never asking or receiving one cent as wages. She was literally and emphatically a member of the family, respected and treated as such by old and young. So great was the respect of her master for her, and so absolute his confidence in her integrity, that when himself confronted with the Remorseless Destroyer, he made the dying request of a brother, that come what might, Lucinda was to remain with, to comfort and care for, his wife and little ones. Let the love and veneration of those children and their children, for her and memory, attest how truly and sacredly she performed this trust.

 

She was the very incarnation of amiability; and in daily contact with her for more than twenty two years, I never once saw her exhibit the slightest evidence or sign of anger. Absolute honesty and truthfulness were among the impressive characteristics of her nature. At all times reliable, faithful and efficient, she came up to the full measure of duty.

             

‘Who does the best his circumstances allows;

Does well, acts nobly, angels could do no more.’

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It is said that a pebble dropped in the ocean will send its wavelets to the distant shore:  is it too much to say that a life like that of this good woman, pure, unselfish, uplifting in its aim and efforts, dropped in the great ocean of humanity, will not pass away without leaving behind an influence that touches the hearts and lives of those that knew and loved her? All that was mortal of Lucinda Floyd has been laid to rest in the cemetery lot with her old Master, Mr. Stewart S. Floyd, whom she helped to rear and loved beyond all earthly things, and who proceeded her but a few months, to “that bourn from whence no traveler returns.” It was her and their wish, that it should be so.   

   

 

Her last deed on earth is done her record is complete. No blot is there.  It is a pure as the white pages of the Book of Life. It is like a copy drawn by Angel’s hands for the initations(sic) of those who remain behind. There may have been better women, but I have not known them. Her life whs(sic) great, her death sublime. As she faintly heard the hoofs of the Messenger’s steed on his way to summons her from Time to Eternity, and was preparing to start on her journey beyond the clouds, looking back over her long and important life, feeling the weight of the burdens she had so patiently borne, being gently lifted from her shoulders may not her last thought have been, “I am free at last,” and may not her sainted ears have heard the voice of Divinity saying, “well done good and faithful servant-enter though into the joy of the Lord.” God grant it.       

 

(Signed) F. C. F.

 

From: The Madisonian December 22, 1893

Linked to: www.findagrave.com/memorial/143704583