Vancleave - Anna Reynolds
Source: Crawfordsville Journal Review 31 July 1940 p 3
Anna Reynolds VanCleave Date of Death: July 30, 1940 Anna Reynolds VanCleave, daughter of William and Elizabeth Stout Reynolds, Was born near Shelbyville, Ky., April 2, 1855. When she was two years old the family came to Indiana. At the close of the Civil war she returned to her Kentucky home but later she came again to Indiana and made her home near Freedom. One of the most interesting stories of the pioneer days was the story of Morgn and his raiders coming to her father's plantation. When we think of her living through the Civil war days to the present time what her life of 85 years means. Aunt Ann as every one called her, united with the Freedom Baptist church in her girlhood. On Jan. 25, 1874, she was married to Daniel Brewer VanCleave of New Market. They established their home one and a half miles south-west of this place. She united with the Old Indian Creek Christian church which later disbanded. She then placed her membership with the New Market Christian church and continued true to her faith until she was called to her heavenly home July 30, 1940. She is survived by three sons, Joseph W. and J. Frank VanCleave of New Market and Dr. W. E. VanCleave, of Talihina, Okla.; one daughter, Mrs. Merle F. Coons of. Crawfordsville; three grandchildren, Wayne VanCleave of New Market; Maurice VanCleave of Talihina, Okla., and Harold Coons of Indianapolis; a half-sister, Mrs. Milton Laughlin, and a half-brother, Jesse Reynolds, both of Cayuga. Her husband, Daniel B. VanCleave, preceded her in death Aug. 2, 1928. She loved her home and it has always reflected the high standards of living. Many are the friends, who have enjoyed her genial hospitality.
When we think of Aunt Ann's 85 years and how she has gradually failed, slipping closer and closer to the sunset of life, we are reminded of the poem: "Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark,
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may hear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark,
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may hear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.