The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1882-01-22
INGERS0LL AT A BURIAL

Washington, Jan. SIN aremote
corner Of the Congregational ceme-
terry, this afternoon, small group
of people, with uncovered heads,
were ranged around a newly opened
grave. They included Detective and
Mrs. George o. Miller and family
and friends who had gathered 10 wit
ness the burial of the formers bright
little son, Harry, a recent victim of
dlphtheria. AS the casket rested
upon the tressles there was pain
ful pause, broken only by the moth
er' s sobs, until the undertaken advan-
ced towards stout, ford COM
plexloned gentleman in the party
and whispered 10 HIM. the words
being inaudible TO the lockers on.
This gentleman was Col. Robert G.
lngersoll, afriend of the MilleEs, who
had attended the funeral at their
request. He shook his head when
the undertaken first addressed him,
aud then said, suddenly, Does Mrs.
Miller desire it?" The undertaken
gave an affirmative nod. DR. Mil
Ter looked appealingly toward the
distinguished orator and then Col.
1ngerSoll advanced to the side of the
grave, made motion denoting a
desire for silence, and in voice CT
exquisite cadence, delivered one of
his characteristic eulogieS for the
dead. The scene was intensely
dramatic. A fine drilling rain
was falling and every mead was bent
and every ear turned to catch the
impasSioned words of eloquence and
hope that fell from the lips of the
famed orator. Colonel IngerSoll was
unprotected by either hat or umb-
rella,and his invocation thrilled his
hearers with awe, each eye that had
previously been bedimmed with
tears Frightening, and Sobs becom-
ing hushed, The colonel said:
My Friends: l know how vain
it is to gild grief with words, and
yet l wish to take from every grave
It's fear. Here in this world. where
life and death are equal kings, all
should be brave enough to meet
what all the dead have met. The
future has been filled with fear,
strained and polluted by the heart
less past From the wondrOus tree
OF lite the buds and blossoms fall
with ripened fruit, and in the COM
mon bed of earth patriarchs and
babes sleep side by side. Why
should we fear that which will come
to all that is? We cannot tell. We
do not know which is the greatest
blessing, life or death. We cannot
say that death is not a good thing.
We do not know w ether the grave
is the end Of this life or the door of
another, or whether the night here
is not somewhere else a dawn.
Neither can we tell which is the
most fortunate-the child dying in
the mothers arms, before its lips
have learned to form a word, or he
who journeys all the length of life's
uneven road painfully taking the
last slow steps with staff and
crutch.
Every cradle asks us "whence?"
and every coffin. whittier ?" The
poor barbarian weeping above his
dead can answer the questions as
intaligentlv and satisfactorily as
the roUed priest Of the most anthem
tic creed. The fearful ignorance of |
the one is just as conseling as the |
learned and unmeaning words of |
the other No man standing where |
the horizon of life has touched ii |
grave has any right to prophesy a |
future filed with pain and tears. |
1t may be that death gives al there |
is of worth to life. If those who |
press and strain against our hearts
could never die, perhaps that love
would wither from the earth. Maybe
q common faith treads from out the |
paths between our hearts the weeds |
CT selfishness and hate. and l should
rather live and love where death is |
king than have eternal life where
love is n t. Another life is naught
unless we know and love again the
ones who love us here.
They who stand with breaking |
hearts around this little grave need |
not fear. The large and noble faith
in all that is, and is to be, tells us |
that death even at lis worst is only |
perfect rest. We know that through |
the common wants of life-the
needs and duties of each hour
their grief will lessen day by day
until at last this grave will be to
them'a place Of rest aqd peace-al-
most joy.
There is for them this consolu-
ton: The dead do not suffer. If
they live again, their lives will be
surely as good as ours.
We have no fear; we are all chill
dren of the same motper, and the
same fate awaits us all. We too
have our religion and it is this:
Help for the living, hope for the
dead.