The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1883-04-26
INGEkSOLL,S FAITH.
His Grafton at the Funeral of a
Friend.

WASHINGTON, April &c. Funeral
services were held yesterday over the
remains of John Mills, private secre-
tarY of Representative Murch, of
Maine. who died Saturday of pneumo-
MIA. Mills was Free thinker in re-
lisi0n and the funeral orati OH overhis
remains was delivered by Colonel
Robert Ingersoll, who said he never
before was more overcome by his feel
ings. After he concluded his remarks
the coffin lid was replaced and screwed
down, during which another solemn
dirge was played upon the piano. The
remains were then taken to the Ralti-
more and Potomac Depot in time for
the night train to New York, Colonel
Ingersoll going with other friends of
the dead to see them off.
Following is the full text of Colonel
Ingersoll's grafton: Again we are
lace TO face with the great mystery
that shrouds this world We question
but there is no reply. Out on the wide
waste of seas there drifts no spar
Over the desert of death the sphinx
gazes forever but never speaks. In the
very May of life another heart has
ceased to beat. Night has fallen upon
noon, but he lived, he loved and was
loved. Wife and children pressed
their kisses on his lips This is enough.
rhe longest life contains no more.
This fills the vase of Joy. He who lies
here clothed with the perfect peace of
death, was kind and loving husband
and good father, a generous neigh
Dor, All honest man; and these words
build monument of glory above the
humblest grave. He was always a
child. sincere and frank as full of
hope as Spring. He divided all time
into to-day and tomorrow. To-mOr-
row was without a cloud, and of to,
morrow he borrowed sunshine for to-
day. He was my friend. He will
remain so. That the living often be-
come estranged from the dead is true
He was not a Christian. In the Eden
of his hope there did not crawl and
coil the serpent of eternal pain. In
many languages he soughtthe thoughts
of men and for himself he solved the
problems of the world. He accepted
Humanity was his god I; the human
race the Supreme Being. In that Su-
preme Being he rested. He believed
that we are Indebted for what We enjoy
to the labor, the self-denial, the hero
ism of the human race, and that as we
have plucked the fruit of what others
have planted, we in thankfulness
should plant for others yet to be. With
him inn mortality was the eternal con-
sequence of his good acts. He believed
that every good thought, every disih-
terested deed hastens the harvest of
universal good. This is religion that
enriches poverty; that enables US to
bear the sorrows of the saddest life
that peoples even solitude with the
happy millions yet to be /; religion
born, not of seltishness and fear, but
of love and hope that gladly bears the
burdens of the unborn.
Z" In the presence of death how be-
liefs and d0gmas wither and decay :;
how loving words and deeds burst and
blossom. Pluck from the tree of any
life these flowers and there remain but
the barren thorns of bigotry and creed,
All wish fl happiness beyond this life
All hope to meet again the loved and
lost. In every heart grows this sacred
flower of eternal hope. Immortality
is hope that through all the ages has
whispering to love. The miracle of
thought we cannot understand. The
mystery of death and and hope we can
not comprehend. This chaos to the
world has never been explained. The
golden bridge of life from gloom
emerges, and our shadow rests. Be-
yond this we do not know. Fate is
speechless, destiny is dumb, and the
secret of the future has never yet been
told. We love, we wait, we hope.
The more we love, the more we fear
upon the tcnderest heart the deepest
shadows fall. All paths, whether
filled with thorns or flowers. end here.
Here success and failure al g the same.
The rag of wretchedness and the pur-
pie robe of power lose difference and
distinction in this Democracy of death;
character alone survives; go d less
alone survives, love alone is immor.
tai. But to these comes time when
the feversd lips of life long for the cool
delicious kiss of death. Tired of the
dust and glare of the day, they hear
with joy the rustling garments of the
night. What can we say of death -?
What can we say of the dead? Where
they have gone reason cannot go, and
from thence revelation has hot come;
but let us believe that over the cradle
nature bends and smiles and lovingly
above the dead in benediction holds
her outstretched hands,"