The weekly Elko independent. [volume] (Elko, Nev.) 1872-1887, 1883-05-13
A TouehiaE EuIozr.


short time since. Robert G. Ingersoll
delivered the following:
Again We are face TO face with this
greht mystery that epshrouds this world
We question. but there is no reply. Out
on the vide waste Of seas there drifts
no spar. Over the desert Of death the
sphinx gazes forever but never speaks.
In the very Nay of life another heart
has ceased TO beat. Night has fallen
upon noon, but be lived, he loved, and
was loved. Wife and children pressed
their kisses on his lips. This is enough.
The 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 a
good father, generous neighbor, an
honest man: and these words build a
monument OF glory above the humblest
grave. Ho was always a child, sincere
and frank, as full OF hope as spring.
He divided all time into 10 day aud to-
morrow. Tomorrow was without a
cloud, aud Of Tomorrow he borrowed
sunshine for to-day. He vas my friend.
He will remain so. That the living
often become estranged from the dead
Is true. He was not Christian. In
the Eden Of his hope there did not
crawl Gnd coil the serpent Of eternal
pain. In many languages he sought
the thoughts Of men, and for himself
he sought this problems Of the world.
He accepted the philosophy Of Auguste
Conte. Humanity was his God; the
human race the Supreme being. In
that Supreme Being he rested. He be-
ieved that We are indebted for what we
enjoy to the labor, the self-denial, the
heroism Of the human race, and that as
we have plucked the fruit OF what 9TH
ere planted, We. in thankfulness,
should plant for others yet to be. With
him immortality was the eternal sonse-
quences Of his own good acts. He be-
heyed that every disirterested deed hast
ems the harvest OF universal good.
This is religion that enrichss poverty 4;
that enables us TO bear the sorrow OF the
saddest life; that people even soli-
tudes with the happy millions yet to
be; religion born. not OF selhshuess
and fear. but OF love and hopo that
gladly bears the burdens of the unborn.
In the presence Of death. how beliefs
and dogmas withrr and decay; how
loving words and deeds burst and
bloom. Pluck from the tree of any life
these flowers aud there remain but the
barren thorus OF bigotry and creod. All
hope to meet again the loved Ani lost.
In every heart grows this sacred flower
OF eternal hope. Immortality is a word
that hope through all ages has been
whispering to love. The miracle Of
thought We cannot understand. The
mystery Of death and hope We cannot
comprehend. This chaos OF the world
has never been explained. The golden
bridge Of life from gloom emerges. aud
our shadow rests. Beyond 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
moro we, fear; upon the tondorest heart
the deepest shadows fall. All paths,
whether filed with thorns or flowers.
end here. Here success and failure are
the same. Tho rage Of wretchedness
and the purple robe Of power lose diff
ference and distinction in this democ.
racy Of death; character alone sur
wives; good alone survives; love alone
is immortal. But TO these comes n time
when the favored lips of life long for
the cool, delicious Hiss of death. Tired
Of the dust and glnro OF the day. they
hear with joy rustlng garments of
the night. What con We say OF the
dead? Where they have gone reason
cannot go. and from thence revelation
has not come; but lot us believe that
over the cradle nature bends and smiles
and lovingly above the deal In beno-
iciiOn holds her outstrc chcd hands. 4"