Custer chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, Black Hills, D.T. [S.D.]) 1880-1890, 1883-04-28

Following is the address of Col. Robert
q. Ingersoll, delivered at the grave OF
John q. Mills, i'm Washington, recently I:
Again we are to face with the mys.
terry that shrouds this world. We ques-
ton, but there is no reply. Out on the
wide of waste 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 ceas-
ed to beat. Night has fallen upon noon;
but he lived, he loved, he was loved.
Wife and children pressed Their kisses
on his lips. This is enough. The long
est life contains no more. This fills the
vase of joy. He who lies here clothed
with the perfect peace Of death was a
kind and loving husband and good
father, a generous neighbor and honest
man, and THESE words build Il moni-
ment of glory above the humblest grave.
He was always a child, sincere and
frank, as full of hope as spring. He di-
vided all time into to-day and to-mor-
IOW. 1O-u1OTTOW was NltllouS NIpui,
and of tomorrow he borrowed sunshine
for to-day. He was my friend. He will
remain so. The living often become
estranged-the dead are 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 lang
uages he sought the thoughts of men,
and for himself TIC solved The problems
OF the world. He accepted the philoso-
phv of August Comte. Humanity was
his God; the human race the Supreme
Being. In that Supreme Being he rest
ed. He believed that we are indebted
for what we enjoy to the labor, the self
denial, the heroism Of the human race
and, as We have p.ucked the fruit of
what others have planted, we i'm thank
fulness should plant for others yet to be.
With him, Immortality was the eternal
consequence Of his own good acts. He
believed that every good thought, every
disinterested deed, hastens the harvest
of universal good. This is a religion
that enriches poverty, that enables US to
bear the sore hearts of. the saddest life,
that peoples even solitude with the
happy millions yet to be a religion,
born not of selfness and fear, but of
love and hope; the religion that digs
wells to slake the thirst of others, that
gladly bears the burdens of the unborn.
T. &Ln &c HATH l>,. l.l.,c g., ,,l
dogmas wither and dry. How loving
words and deeds burst into blossom
Pluck from the tree of any life these
flowers, and there remains but the bar
rem thorns Of bigotrv and creed. All
wish for happiness beyond this life. All
hope to meet again the loved and lost.
In every heart there grows this sacred
flower of eternal hope. Immortality is
a want that hope through all the ages
has been whispering to love. The mir
acle of thought We cannot understand.
The mystry of death and hope we can.
not comprehend. This chaos, called the
world, has never been explained. The
golden bridge of life from gloom emery
es and on 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 more We fear. Upon the tend
crest shadows fall; all paths, where filed
with thorns or flowers, end here. Here
success and failure are the same. The
rag of wretchedness and the purple robe
of power lose difference and distinction
in this democracy of death. Character
alone survives. Goodness alone lives.
Love alone is immortal. But to all there
mt . time when the fevered lips Of
life long for the cool, delicious kiss Of
death. Tired with the dust and glare of
day, We are with JOY the r~ustling gar
ments Of the night. What can We say
of death? What can we say of the dead?
where they have gone reason cannot 60.
and from thence revelation has not
come. But let us believe that over the
cradle nature bends and smiles. and low
ingiy above the dead in benediction
holds Der o~utstretched hands.