Obituary.

Southern Cross, Volume 17, Issue 15, 24 July 1909, Page 12

Obituary.

JOHN FRANCIS LOPDELL. Quite a number of our old identities have been called home of late, and the latest to obey the summons was Mr Lopdell. He was a typical Irishman, genial, hearty, and benevolent, a man beloved by all who knew him. Deceased" was born in County Galway, Ireland, and was a son of the late John Lopdell, J.P., squire of Derryowen, and Deputy Lieutenant of Countv Galway. Mr Lopdell came to the colony in 1885, and engaged inthe sawmilling industry, which occupation he followed until a' fewmonths ago. He and his worthy helpmate reared a family of eleven children, who are following in the steps of their parents. At the funeral six stalwart sons bore the coffin to the hearse. Mr Lopdell was a strenuous temperance worker —in fact, every cause for the betterment of -mankind and the" alleviating of suffering found a ready friend in Mr Lopdell. The Hospital Saturday Association know the assistance given by Mr Lopdell and family, and how on last collection deceased moved about and took his share of the work manfully. The funeral took place on Thursday, and there was a large gathering of friends, including many from a distance. The service at the house was conducted by Mr W. D. Little, of the Bowmont street chapel, of which deceased was a member. The service at the grave was conducted by Mr Little, assisted by the Rev. MiHales, of the Baptist Church, On Sunday evening a memorial service will be held in the Bowmont street chapel. As a husband, father, and grandfather, Mr Lopdell was exceptionally devoted and affectionate, and although not taking an active part in public affairs he was well versed in the affairs of the town and district. He was a sterling man in every walk of life—one to whom Bonar's beautiful lines apply : "Up and away like the dew in the morning, That soars from the earth to its home in the sun, — So let me steal away gently and lovingly, Only remembered by what I have done. "Up and away like the odours of sunset That sweeten the twilight as darkness comes on, — So be my life—a thing felt but not noticed, And I but remembered by what I have done. "Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness, When the flowers that it came from are closed up and gone, So would I be to this world's weary dwellers, Only remembered by what I have done. "Needs there the praise of the lovewritten record, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone ? The things we have lived for, let them be our story, We ourselves but remembered by what we have done. "1 need not be missed, if my life has been bearing (As its summer and autumn moved silently on) The bloom and the fruit, and the seed of its season ; 1 shall still be remembered by what I have done. "Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, Shall pass on to ages, all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. "So let my living be, so let my dying : So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown ; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered ; Yes —hut remembered by what I have done."