OBITUARY
GERTRUDE VANCE GASPER
May 8, 1930, North Vernon Sun
Gertrude Vance Gasper was born near Lovett, Ind., on May 6, 1895. She was married to Ivan Gasper on Nov. 4, 1913. To
this union six children were born. One of these Helen preceeded her in death when in her infancy.
In 1912 she united with the First Methodist church and continued a member through these years.
On April 26, 1930 she came to the end of her earthly pilgrimage and fell asleep in the Lord. Her death brought to a
close a long and painful illness. Her sufferings are over, and tears no more will be shed. Her face that showed something of the bodily ill,
is wreathed in smiles instead. She cannot come to us, but we shall go to her and, considering the blessedness of her lot now, we cannot be so
selfish that we wish her back, but we will live on in the hope that we shall meet in our Heavenly Home.
In life she was faithful in performance of any duties which came to her; she was patient in suffering, and endured it
all with Christian fortitude; as a mother she was loving gentle and good; she was an exemplary wife and made a home for her family which was
a haven of rest-the dearest place on earth. In childhood she was obedient and easily guided by her parents; she was a splendid neighbor and
friend to all.
In death she leaves to mourn and bide awhile, her mother, one brother Arthur Vance, a sister, Mrs. Glen Uulm of Chicago,
five motherless children, Gerald, Mildred, Mabel, Mary and Leo, and her husband who appreciated her in life and are now to learn of her
immeasurable worth and strive to live so that they shall meet where partings come no more. Many other relatives and friends remain to enter
into a mutual sorrow for her going. Five months she has been confined to her room or the bed with the affliction that took her away, but now
free from all sorrow and pain she shall be forever with the Lord.
"Sunset and the evening star,
And one clear call for me;
May there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such the tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound or foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and the evening bell,
And after that the dark;
May there be no sadness of farwell
When I embark.
For though from out our bourn of time and place,
The floods may bear me far,
I hope to meet my Savior face to face,
When I have crossed the bar.
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