IN MEMORIAM LIBBY RUSH
RUSH
In loving memory of Elizabeth Imelda Rush (McCullagh), born February 2nd 1941, abruptly taken from us August 15th 1998.
Deeply missed by her husband, children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters and friends.
"...Love is patient and kind,
Love is not jealous or boastful,
It is not arrogant or rude,
Love does not insist on its own way;
It is not irritable or resentful,
It does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the right.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends."
(1st letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians).
"I do not think of you lying in the wet clay,
Of a Tyrone graveyard,
I see you walking down a lane among the poplars...
And I think of you walking along a headland,
Of green oats in June.
So full of repose, so rich with life -
And I see us meeting at the end of a town,
On a fair day by accident after
The bargains are all made and we can walk together through the shops and stall and markets.
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we are piling up the ricks against the moonlight,
And you smile up at us eternally.
(Patrick Kavanagh)
In loving memory of Elizabeth Imelda Rush (McCullagh), born February 2nd 1941, abruptly taken from us August 15th 1998.
Deeply missed by her husband, children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters and friends.
"...Love is patient and kind,
Love is not jealous or boastful,
It is not arrogant or rude,
Love does not insist on its own way;
It is not irritable or resentful,
It does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the right.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never ends."
(1st letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians).
"I do not think of you lying in the wet clay,
Of a Tyrone graveyard,
I see you walking down a lane among the poplars...
And I think of you walking along a headland,
Of green oats in June.
So full of repose, so rich with life -
And I see us meeting at the end of a town,
On a fair day by accident after
The bargains are all made and we can walk together through the shops and stall and markets.
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we are piling up the ricks against the moonlight,
And you smile up at us eternally.
(Patrick Kavanagh)
Further Information
Publisher: ULSTER HERALD
Ref: UH/0813
Published Date: 16-Aug-01
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