Her last days found her at Caswell Bay, Swansea, Wales, where she had gone for a rest. When informed that she was approaching the end of her sufferings, she is said to have answered, “If I am going, it is too good to be true.” Death came on June 3, 1879, in the forty-third year of her age; and she was laid to rest in the Astley churchyard beside her father, and close to the church and home of her childhood. By her own desire her favorite text was carved on her tombstone: “The Blood of Jesus Christ His Son Cleanseth Us From All Sin.”
It was an unusual scene, according to The Standard, that comforted the bereaved mother as well as the few persons present
When Parepa Sang at Annie’s Funeral
This famous singer, through a friend, attended the funeral of Annie, the only daughter of a poor widowed mother, in the East End of London. This friend’s description is worth quoting:
“The undertaker came and bustled about. He looked at myself and Parepa, as if to say, ‘It’s time to go. The wretched funeral service is over.’
“Without a word, Parepa rose and walked to the head of the coffin. She laid her white scarf on an empty chair, threw her cloak back from her shoulders, where it fell in long, soft, black lines from her noble figure like the drapery of mourning. She laid her soft, fair hand on the cold forehead, passed it tenderly over the wasted, delicate face, looked down at the dead girl a moment, and moved my flowers from the stained box to the thin fingers, then lifted up her head, and, with illumined eyes, sang the glorious melody:
“‘Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to thy care.’
“Her magnificent voice rose and fell in all its richness and power and pity and beauty. She looked above the dingy room and the tired faces of the men and women, the hard hands and the struggling hearts. She threw back her head and sang till the choirs of paradise must have paused to listen to the music of that day. She passed her hand caressingly over the girl’s soft, dark hair, sang on and on; ‘Take, oh, take her to Thy care.’
“The mother’s face grew rapt and white. I held her hands and watched her eyes. Suddenly she threw my hands off and knelt at Parepa’s feet, close to the wooden trestles. She locked her fingers together, tears and sobs breaking forth. She prayed aloud that God would bless the angel singing for Annie. A patient smile settled about her lips, and the light came back into her poor, dulled eyes, and she kissed her daughter’s face with a love beyond all interpretation of human speech. I led her back to her seat as the last glorious notes of Parepa’s voice rose triumphant over all earthly pain and sorrow.