When I am through with this old clay house of mine
When no more guide lights through the windows shine
Just box it up and lay it away,
With the other clay houses of yesterday
And with my friends, just try if you can
To bury the wrongs, since first I began to live in this house
To bury them deep and forget, I want to feel free and out of debt.
When i meet the Grand Architect Supreme, face to face, I want to be clean
I know my dear friends, it’s to late to mend
A bad built house when you come to the end
But to you who are building, and still on the line
Make your alterations, while yet there is time
You ask what material is best to select
It was told long ago by the grand architect
A new commandment I give to you
That you love one another, as I have loved you
So the very best material to send up above
Is the clear straight timber of Brotherly love
Della Viola Holbrook was born April 12, 1909 to grace the home of W.B. (Bill) Holbrook and Sarah Holbrook
at Cromona, Ky. Here she grew to womanhood, a kind and obedient child. Early in life she met and married
Arvil (Coon) Holbrook. To this union were born three children: one girl, Serenda, and two boys: Vleatis and
Kenneth both of Hazard, Ky. She was preceded in death by Arvil (Coon) and the daughter, Sereda.
On April 2, 1950, she professed a hope in Jesus Christ, offered her hand, and became a member of the
Elizabeth Regular Baptist Church. So upon the profession of her hope, she was waited upon in baptism, by her
Brother R.E. Holbrook and Dixie Isom.
A true and faithful member she remained until the end and filled her seat as long as she was able to attend.
She was afflicted and in poor health for many years, but this she bore with great patience, until the pale horse
and his rider called her away August 2, 1975.
She leaves to mourn her passing, one brother, Sandy Holbrook of Trenton, Ohio, six grand-children. The two
boys, a host of friends and relatives many precious brothers and sisters in the faith. Her stay here on earth was
66 years, 3 months and 21 days.
Along the Golden Streets a stranger walks to-night
With wonder in her heart, faith blossomed into sight
She walks and stops, and stares, and walks and stops again
Vistas of holiness, beyond the dreams of men
She was feeble, weak, and shackled to her bed.
Now climbs eternal hills with light and easy tred
She has escaped at last, the cruel clutch of pain
Her lips shall never taste its bitter cup again
Oh! Never call her dead, this buoyant one and free
Whose daily portion is delight and ecstasy
She bows in speechless joy before the feet of Him
Whom seeing not she loved, while yet her sight was dim
Along the Golden Streets no stranger walks today
But one who long homesick, is home to stay
Humbly Submitted by Lewis F. Craft a Brother in Hope
Elder Ballard Meade
Elder W.F. Hubbard
Lewis F. Craft