CARBON PHOTO, ALLEN & ROWELL tN VEE MOR VY OF Peak Y MAY (1787-1882) Vi Me OM SAMUEL MAY OF SOs FON > ] > 5) dD S > 592. > lee } pees 25 » 2 2 aS ee ) ) » > ] > »? , »>9 ) Poe ) ae d» 2 Oe a ee ee ene ee as 999 24? 2 ra —Il[ YO} >? ga? 490 979° 9009 30 > » 2 » i i > > “Sa a%o 225 ? M597 3 2 a etd | Wee °e 2 Wwe ULL. 145 1) laoKe eececeoce o°%é e°e eo Mary May was the second daughter of Joseph Goddard, of Brookline, and was born in that town, December 15, 1787. Her mother was Mary Aspinwall, also of a well-known and much esteemed Brookline family. She had the plain and wise rearing and education of an intelligent farmer’s family, in which the parents were examples of industry, prudence and uprightness, good citizens and neighbors, useful mem- bers of society, and habitual attendants through life at the Sunday religious service. The children were numerous ; the father’s steady industry and the mother’s wise economy were the only sources of support; and so Mary was taken, when about thirteen years old, into the family of her uncle, Nathaniel Goddard, of Boston, —a prosperous merchant, — becoming the elder among the children of the house. It was a loving home and good school for her, and she tried to do her duty in it. Here, too, she had access to a better school-education than she could have had in Brookline. She always spoke of her uncle and of his family with respect and affection, and her interest in them continued unchanged A through life. At their handsome and attractive residence in Summer Street she was married, July 19, 1809, to Samuel May, a merchant of Boston, and a resident there from his birth to his death. Soon after his death,— which occurred February 23, 1870, at the age of ninety-three years and up- ward, — her own strength being much impaired by a recent severe illness, she ceased to be the head of a home which, for more than sixty years she had made such, in its best sense, to all her descendants, and to many besides, and became an inmate of the family of her younger daughter, Abby W. May ; in which she continued until her death, which occurred March 17, 1882, at the age of ninety-four years, three months and two days. At the funeral services, which took place at the house, in Exeter Street, on Monday, March 20, all her children were present, all her grandchildren except two,— who were detained by illness or distance of residence, — three of her great-grandchildren, a sister, a brother, numerous other relatives, and a few intimate friends of her old age. At noon thé Rev. Frederick Frothingham, of Milton, a near con- nection, opened the services by reading from the Scriptures. Understanding that Mrs. May had expressed the wish, before — his death, that Rev. Nathaniel Hall, of Dorchester, should officiate at her funeral, Mr. Frothingham made use of one of Mr. Hall’s manuscript selections, nearly as follows : — 5 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness, for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. miven to old age, saith the Lord, ‘I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you. I will gather thee to thy fathers, and thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace.’ Then shall the dust return to the earth, as it was; and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. To die is gain. For we know that if the earthly house of our tabernacle be dissolved, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal, in the heavens. God is not the God of the dead, but of the living; for all live unto Him. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness ; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. | ‘I am the resurrection and the life,” saith the Lord 6 Jesus; ‘he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live: and he that liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’ : ‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me’ — ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. Behold, I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I come again, and will receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.’ And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying — neither any more pain; for the former things have passed away. Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not appear what we shall be; but we know that when He shall - appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every one that hath this hope in him purifieth him- self, even as He is pure. Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to Him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator. 7 Rev. Samuel May, of Leicester, her oldest son, said :— “You will certainly be surprised to hear my voice at this time. Since my mother’s death I have learned that it was her wish that I should take part in these services. Sucha wish I cannot disregard, feeling sure that she never could have supposed that I would use the occasion for encomium upon herself. If now—among these friends—HJI try to fulfil her wish in some degree, it is in the hope of not violating, while I do so, the obvious rule which should govern him who speaks of one so nearly associated with all his life. I shall probably seem to you to fail; but I hope you will also be able to forgive me, since, in such a case, even ailure is preferable to disregard. “Her simple, busy home-life, however long, would seem to furnish no material for remark beyond her immediate family. But a really true life, consistently conformed throughout to a high standard, must always be a subject worthy of our thought. Is not such a life, in truth, the highest attain- ment we can reach? and the best contribution any one can make to the common cause of human well-being? It is important, too, to show, if we can, that the ordinary events, the common course of life, afford all the needful conditions of so living, and are themselves the soil in which the best qualities of useful and genuine character may find growth. “T do think — while I make no peculiar claim on her ac- count —that my mother’s life has been a consistently true one during all the seventy years in which I have known her, — 8 and true toahigh purpose. This purpose rose and broadened as she acted upon it, led her steadily forward, and inspired the new courage and faith which each new step demanded. I have no reason to think that it ever occurred to her that this purpose had in it aught unusual or worthy of remark, To her it was only an obvious necessity. This purpose, I believe, simply was to do her duty to the extent of her power, in the place where, in the providence of God, her lot was cast. “Only the first twelve or thirteen years of her life were spent in her father’s home. The next nine years were in the family of her uncle Nathaniel, in Boston, where she fulfilled her part in such way as to secure their life-long — love and respect. Of course she felt a great increase of responsibility when called to have charge of a family of her own. Then the full, serious —and also joyous — meaning of life came to her. Probably she made no formal resolu- tion; her sufficient purpose being to meet each occasion as it arose, and to be faithful in every relation she held. When one, in her later life, spoke to her of her various efforts for useful ends, and of the satisfaction she must take in remem- bering them, she replied that the greatest satisfaction of her life was in the thought that she had habitually stayed with her family at home. ‘Home is the best place,’ were words of hers familiar to us all. “In her treatment of her children there was nothing formal — no rule of rigorous precision. They knew her as 9 their best friend. Yet there was no weak condoning of their faults. If wrong had been done there was to be restitution, Or other amends, as the case might be. Disobedience was ever controlled and overcome Punctuality and fidelity in school duties were fixed household facts. Above all, the idea of a law of right, greater than any human wisdom Or power, was taught both by her precept and example. The daily prayer at the child’s bedside never was for- gotten; and, on Sunday afternoons, she gathered all the young people in her house to her side, and, in sympathetic voice, which secured their interest, would say, it may be, ‘Come, ye children, hearken unto me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord. Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips that they speak no falsehood. Depart from evil and do good. Seek peace and pursue it;’ and go on to familiarize their thoughts with hymns and the like, which thus became a part of their life’s furnishing and armor. To one of them, whose mind had been alarmed by representations of great suffering in the life to come, she quietly said: ‘I do not believe that God-_will inflict any suffering on us in the next life, more than in this, which is not needful for our good. He can do us no wrong or harm.’. The words gave inde- scribable relief;—if se did not believe in those future terrors, and for such reasons, why should any one? Toone of her children, at a distant school, writing to her of some unusual plans of boyish amusement, she replied, kindly but firmly dissuading him from the project, ‘because,’ she said, IO ‘TI am afraid you will be led to take some improper step to obtain the needful materials.’ In so writing she had touched, as with a needle’s point, the centre of what proved a serious peril to the school. Thus was she, in her little domain, a teacher of righteousness and truth, holding the standard high, and showing the danger of any compromise with wrong. “She was mother of several children when the discussion of entire abstinence from the use of alcoholic drinks came up in Boston, and the full truth of their evil effects was plainly told. She soon saw the vital importance of the “question to the welfare of every family, and to the safety of every person; and she also saw the necessity of action, prompt and thorough. In her home that action was taken ; for ‘the heart of her husband trusted in her,’ and he prac- tically approved the entire exclusion. In the sharp contest in Hollis Street Church caused by this subject, during the ministry of Rev. John Pierpont, they both were steadfast friends of that brave and great-souled man. “Another subject, bringing with it a much greater trial, came in her way. Soon after Mr. Garrison spoke his first words in Boston, the report of them was brought to her by her much-loved nephew, the late Samuel Joseph May, and she was not long in seeing that she had a duty here also. What she could effect was not obvious. On the contrary, she was freely told it was wholly impossible that she could do any good; that harm only could come from agitating the ret question. She probably did not say, ‘Then the pillared firmament is rottenness,’ but she did see the truth that lies in those words, and she resolved to ‘do what she could.’ At the least, she could say to all she met, ‘This American slavery is a vast wickedness, and this American people is a cruel oppressor of God’s children, and a perpetual violator of God’s laws ;’ and she could stand with those who would utter this cry aloud in every quarter of the land. Leader of her family in this also; standing alone for a time, but unanswered and unshaken. There was censure, and worse, of outsiders to be borne; but she bore it without retort, and went on her way. The joy of the final triumph was greatly saddened to her by the multitude of young and innocent lives laid down to secure it. Between herself and Mr, Garrison there grew up a strong friendship, which con- _ tinued and increased through life. “Before Rev. Theodore Parker came to Boston she had heard him preach, and had accepted substantially his ground. She saw, with him, that much had been fastened upon Christianity which did not belong to it; that it would be a good thing to let this ¢vamszent portion go, and thereby better secure and render more effective the permanent. ‘The life and doctrine of Mr. Parker were, we know, among the mightiest agencies which brought this nation to put away its sin of slaveholding. She was, through all the rest of his life, one of his truest friends, retaining her grateful honor and love for his memory to her last hour. Into what ‘solemn D2 troops and sweet societies’ she has entered now, we fain would know, but can only faintly imagine. | | “In advanced age she did not tire, or) S@GKinamems: instance to excuse herself, when a just principle needed support, or a good work called for help. And thus she put her trembling hand, but with a stout heart, to the demand for justice to women. “Many run well for a time, then get discouraged or weary, and fall away. She kept her face set steadily forward. Faithful she remained to the end. The rule of her early life —to postpone herself until her duty to others was — done — continued her rule always. If this seems to indicate a monotonous life, it was not so in fact. If it seems improbable, I can only re-affrm my belief that it is essentially true. Herein, doubtless, she has done no more than many others. ‘Many daughters have done virtuously,’ and will do virtuously ; but to her certainly belongs the quite rare ~ distinction of having stood thus true, calm, thoughtful, loving, for ninety-four years. “Tf her life ever seemed to herself too long —as I think it did, sometimes, after she had ceased to be capable of ‘doing with her hands’ —it did not to others. The wait- ing-time abounded, for them, in lessons impressing themselves on the memory, and sinking into the depths of their hearts. “We can be only grateful for the manner and time of her death. It was indeed long postponed—to an age which v3 had been seldom reached by any of her kindred — but all its attendant circumstances were favorable and kindly :— ‘And, watched by eyes that loved her, calm and sage, Faded her late-declining years away.’ Every ministration of duty and affection, at the hands, too, of many friends not of her kindred, had been close at hand for her, day and night. Much more—her own mind had remained unclouded, her memory without sign of failure. To the last hour of her consciousness she bore her friends, and their friends, in mind. She had scanned her past with an honest judgment; she was anticipating the future with trust, with reverent humility, and without fear. She was ready. No pang of suffering gave warning to others, or seemingly to herself. Only her head drooped upon her breast, and she had gone! What of bodily life remained for a few hours was only the slow stopping of the machine which had been ever run with conscience towards the great Master-builder. It was the gentlest of touches which told her to come away. It was truly ‘the angel death ;’ for God loved her and took her — took her to His side as gently as ever she drew child to hers. It seems something more than either hope or faith which almost makes us to hear the greeting of Him ‘who, above all temples, doth prefer the upright heart and pure,’ — “¢ Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’” 14 “T will read,” said Mr. May, “some lines just now put in my hand, written by one of her grandchildren :” —* IN MEMORIAM; MARY MAY. WuHite, from the snows of winter, flowers spring, And earth, awakening, doth with new joys sing, This cherished life, so old, doth but begin Its infancy. Not by the wayside bare she sowed the seed ; Greater than Faith or Hope —this was her creed, To lend her Lord, through brothers in their need, Sweet Charity. Of others’ burdens sore she bore a part ; The fetters of the bondman in the mart Her hands unclasped — they found in her dear heart Fraternity. In hour of need her country claimed her thought ; To do her share with those who battles fought, Into each comfort for the camp she wrought Brave loyalty. Faithful to cares of home, she deemed it meet To take Love’s footstool for her highest seat, Proving, like Mary at the Saviour’s feet, Fidelity. * Samuel May, of Dorchester. IS Compassed about with love, fearing no harm, Her treasures laid on high, under God’s arm She watched and waited for her call, in calm Serenity. Taking the well-worn path, for ages trod, We place thy form, dear friend, beneath the sod, Knowing thy well-earned meed is, from thy God, Eternity. MARCH 20, 1882. Rev. Frederick Frothingham, of Milton, then spoke : — “Who would venture to add a word to the tribute, so deli- cate, so just, so reverent, so modest, to a noble mother from a faithful son? That which no human lips could speak our hearts supply. We make it our own in their Amen. “What alone we may fitly add to it is our glad, strong thanksgiving that a life deserving such a tribute has been lived. And surely in that we may well rejoice and tri- umph — none the less, even the more, for our tears and our sense of bereavement and loss; as they attest, in their own way, how great the good that has been given. The word for this presence and this hour is not death, but life ; not final loss, but enduring gain; not break-down, but vic- tory. Even for this earth that precious life, whose visible outward term has ended, is not no more. One who filled, so long and so well, so large a place cannot in an instant cease to be. She still lives here, though men call her dead. She lives in the memory, the thought, the heart of 16 those who loved her. She lives in the lives she has helped to mould and guide. She lives in those bound to her by the closest and most living ties known to this world. She lives in those still .remaining here whom she has served and blessed. She lives in the great and goodly works — which her hand helped to bring to pass. She lives in the power of her high and beautiful example, that example glorified now by the transfiguring touch of death. What glad, steady, rich, unstinted service she gave! She gave, how truly, where need was! Her hand put once to the plow, she looked not back. Verily she did much. She was much, And this was not because of ostentation and pub- licity — rather in the quiet of a life that shunned display —but because of the unselfish readiness and wholeness of — her devotion. She could not give herself by halves. How strong and cheery the support she gave strong men fighting the battles of the oppressed, the tempted, the wronged ! Who can know how much of their effective strength came from this fountain? And what a wealth of tenderness and sweetness was at its source —yes, that -deep, undying love, whose fineness only they can know who were privileged to enter the inner circle of her domestic and home life, alone equal to the supply of that never-failing strength! With what benignant, abiding shining that love blessed those near and far! And it went forth to shed its benediction on many who never might know whence that benediction came.