The Emporia weekly news. [volume] (Emporia, Kan.) 1881-1889, 1882-01-12
Beautiful Words from Inrsrson

WASHINGTON, ID. c., Jan. 9.-In a re-
mote corner of the Congressional Gene,
terry, this afternoon, y small group of
people, with uncovered heads, were ar
ranged around newly opened grave.
They included Detective and Mrs. Geo.
A. Miller and friends, who had gather
ed to witness the burial of the formers
bright little son, Harry. AS the coffin
rested upon the trestles there was pain
full pause, broken only by the mothers
sObs, until the undertaken advanced TO-
ward stout, florid-cOmplexioned gen.
tleman in the party and whispered TO
him, the words being inaudible to the
lookers-on. This gentleman was Robert
| g. IngersOll, friend of the MIllers,
who attented the funeral at their request.
| He then shook his head and said, docs
Mr. Miller desire it 90
The undertaken gave an affirmative
nod, Mr.. Miller looked toward the no
| ted orator, and then hastily Col. Inger-
soil advanced to the side of the grave
/ and made one of his characteristic eulo-
| gies for the dead. He stood unprotected
from the drizzling rain, and said. My
| friends, / know how vain it is 10 gild
/ grief with words, and yet wish to take
from every grave its 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 filed with fear,
stained and polluted By the heart
less past From the wondrous
tree of life, the buds and blossoms fall
with ripened fruit, and in the common
bed of earth the patriarchs and babies
sleep side by side. Why should we fear
that which will come to all that is q!
We can not tell. We do not know
which is the greater blessing-life o.
death. We can not say that death is g
good; we do not know whether the
grave is the end of this life or the duol
of another, or whether the night here i:
not somewhere else a dawn. Neithe
can we tell which is the more fortunate
the child dying IN its mothers arms
before its lips have learned to form
word, or he who Journeys all the length
of lies uneven road, painfully taking
the last slow steps with staff and cTutch
+ Every cradle asks US, "Whence?" ant
every coffin, "Whither?" The poor bar
barian, weeping above his dead can an
swer these questions as intelligently AM
satisfactorily as the rObed priest of tn
most authentic creed. The fearful ig
|, norance of the one is just as goot
as the learned and unmeaninl
; words of the other. No man stand
ing where the horizon of life ha
, touched a grave, has any right to prophe
sy future filled with pain and tears.
, may be that death gives all there is o
, worth to life. If those we press an
strain against our hearts could never die
perhaps that love would wither froI
the earth. May be this common fat
/ treads from out the paths between GU
8 hearts the weeds of selfishness and hat
3 and had rather live and love wheI
/ death is king, than have eternal lii
!. where love is not Another life is naugt
. unless we know and love again the one
, love US here.
q They who stand with breaking heart
around this little grave need have n
It fear. The larger and the nObler faith i
d all that is, and is to be, tells US thi
q death, even at its worst, is only perfeC
n rest. We know that through the con
e mon wants of life, the needs and dutie
of each hour, their grief will lessen da
by day until at last these graves will b
J. to them place of rest and peace, almo:
! joy. There is for them this consolation
/ the dead do not suffer. If they liv
s again their lives will surely be as goo
Is as ours. We have no fear; we are a
J. children of the same mother, and th
e same fate awaits US all. We, too, hay
T our religion, and it is this: Help fc
# the living; hope for the dead"
It At the conclusion of the eloquent or
h ton the little coffin was deposited in Il
e last resting place covered with flowers