Harry Robert Trickett


Born: De­cem­ber 1839, Not­ting­ham­shire, Eng­land.

Died: Ap­ril 1909, Ke­o­kuk, Io­wa.

Buried: Oak Grove Ce­me­te­ry, Ha­mil­ton, Il­li­nois.


Trickett emi­grat­ed to Am­er­ica at age 12. He went back to Eng­land as a young man to com­plete his edu­ca­tion, and stu­died for a ca­reer in law, but soon de­cid­ed for the min­is­try.

After re­turn­ing to Am­er­ica, he bought a farm in Mon­te­bel­lo Town­ship, Han­cock Coun­ty, Il­li­nois, which was home for the rest of his life. He be­came a Dis­ci­ples of Christ min­is­ter, and held pas­tor­ates in Il­li­nois, Io­wa, and Mis­sou­ri, and did much ev­an­gel­is­tic work.

In the clos­ing years of his life, it was his cus­tom to write a Christ­mas ser­mon for the Nau­voo, Il­li­nois, In­de­pen­dent. The clos­ing words of his last ser­mon were:

In all pro­ba­bi­li­ty, this is the last Christ­mas ser­mon I shall write you. Ac­cept as my Christ­mas gift. It is all I have to give you know. There will be no Christ­mas fes­ti­vi­ties for me. I am old and fee­ble and lone­ly, but my heart goes out to you in good wish­es.

I am ve­ry thank­ful for the warmth and shel­ter of the hos­pi­tal, and, while I think and hope that God may give me strength and health again, yet I do not know, nor do I care over­much. It is well, no mat­ter what hap­pens.

Living or dy­ing, I have par­tak­en of the Christ­mas me­lo­dies. I see be­yond the sha­dow of the cross, and have passed in­to the garden of Jo­seph of Ar­i­ma­the­a, and am stand­ing among the white lil­ies of the re­sur­rect­ion. I see that the ris­en Lord and the Babe of Beth­le­hem are one, and I cry in the words of the grand old chant, O Lamb of God, who tak­eth away the sin of the world, have mer­cy on me.

Amen and amen.



Help Needed

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Trick­ett (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),