The Sunday Gazetteer
Sunday, February 16, 1890
pg. 3

A SAD BEREAVEMENT
The Gazetteer announces with regret the death of Mrs. J.F. O'Brien which took place in this city on Saturday evening week.  The lady's demise was very unexpected, many of her most intimate friends not being aware that she was even dangerously ill.  On Saturday morning she gave birth to  a child (her first) and at 7:30 p.m. she was dead.
Everybody remembers Miss Nora Stroube for so many years head saleslady in the fancy goods department of the Star Store.  It was there she acquired the wide acquaintance she enjoyed in this community, and by her intelligence, amiability and courtesy made herself the universal favorite she was.  About 18 months ago she resigned her situation and a short time later was married to Mr. O'Brien.  She came to Denison when but a child, and grew to womanhood here, enjoying
the love and respect of all with whom she was brought in contact.  The funeral took place Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock from the First Presbyterian Church, the obsequies attracting a very large concourse of friends.  The cortege that followed the hearse to Fairview Cemetery was one of the largest ever seen in the city.  The Gazetteer extends to the bereaved husband and friends its condolence and sympathy.

The Sunday Gazetteer
Sunday, March 2, 1890
pg. 1

OBITUARY POEM
In Memory of Mrs. Nora O'Brien Who Died Saturday, Feb. 8th, 1890

Nora, our darling has left us,
Gone home to that bright eternal shore;
For her days of suffering are o'er.

Gone and left her loved ones to mourn,
Gone to the place of brightness;
Where sorrow and sufferings are unknown,
For her tiresome journey is ended.

How much we'll miss her none can tell,
Now we are left so lonely and sad;
Thinking of days never more to return,
When our hearts were happy and glad.

Tears flowing and hearts almost broken,
When the news spread, that she was dead;
Bitterest sorrow chocked her friends,
When they  listened to what was said.

Many long hours did she suffer,
Even more than pen can tell;
But the glorious fame she justly won,
Like the great Cicero of ancient Rome.

These words, she's dead, pierced her mother's heart,
All joy is now mingled with sorrow;
Her sister's heart nigh broken,
For with their loved one they must part.

May God with his ever watchful eye,
Look at husband and child with great care,
Till the Almighty calls them home,
To meet dear Nora there.

When we gazed on the wooden casket,
We heard the minister say;
Oh! death, where is thy sting?
Oh! grave where is thy victory?

Peacefully she lay at rest,
What is mortal, is beneath the sod;
Near her, birds shall sweetly sing,
When flowers are blossoming.

She has climbed the golden stairs,
Trials for her are all o'er;
She is waiting to meet her loved ones there,
On that bright eternal shore.

One day we hope to meet again,
Where parting is no more;
And press kisses on those lips,
Which I've often done before.

Then let us wipe the tears away,
Since the prize she has won;
And beg for strength, to say
God's will, and not ours, be done.

An affectionate father and mother,
Burden'd down the second time with affliction;
Calls aloud the loved one's name,
But she is deaf to all earthly callings.

But look at the poor weeping husband,
Who was so true and devoted;
Murmers not, for God called her home, to be with Him there
For she was the flower so sweet and rare.

Nine months ago, she became a happy bride,
And life seemed like one long happy day;
In the midst of her happiness and pleasure,
It was then she was called away.

With patience she bore her sufferings,
And quietly laid them do awn;
And left us to mourn and weep,
While she wears the heavenly crown.

After laboring hard for many years,
The battle of life she nobly fought;
Though young, she had no fears,
Her mission she ended, the battle she won.

Another small mound within, the Fairview,
Another highly prized spot
Where we'll go and visit often,
But Nora, darling, we see thee not.

Let us not weep for Nora who departed,
She has only gone to prepare the way;
So with a farewell from one and all,
We hope to meet one day.

---M.B.
Denison, Texas, Feb. 27, 1890