Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1883-04-19
THE FAITH OF UNBELIEF.
Colonel IngersOll's Eloquent Grafton
Over the Coffin Of an Infidel.

WASHINGTON, April 16.-Funeral ser.
vices were held yesterday over the re-
mains of John Mills, private secretary of
Representative Murch, of Maine. who
died Saturday of pneumonia. Mills was
Free-thinker in religion and the funeral
oration over his remains was delivered
by Colonel Robert Ingersoll, who said he
never before was more overcome BY his
feelings. After he concluded his re-
marks 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 Bal
timore & Potomac Depot in time for the
night train to New York. Colonel Inger.
soil going with other friends of the dead
to see them OFT.
Following is the full text of Colonel
Ingersoll's Grafton: "Again we are face
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
the life another heart has ceased to beat.
Night has fallen upon noon, but he lived.
he loved, and was loved. Wife and chill
dren 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 good father, generous
neighbor, an honest man; and these
words built monument of glory above
the humblest grave. He was always
child, sincere and frank; as full of hope
as spring. He divided all time into day
and to, morrow. Tomorrow was with
out cloud and of tomorrow he bor-
friend. He will remain so. That the
living often become estraDged from the
dead is true. He was not Christian. In
the Eden of his hope there did not crawl
and coil the serpent of eternal pain. In
many languages he sought the thoughts
of men and for himself he solved the
problems of the world. He accepted the
philosophy of Auguste Comte. Human
ity was his god; the human race the Su-
preme Being. In that Supreme Being he
rested. He believed 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 Others planted, we in thankfulness,
should plant for others yet to be. With
him Immortality was the eternal conse-
quence of his good acts. He believed
that every good thought, every disinter-
ested deed hastens the harvest of univer-
sal good. This is religion that enriches
poverty; that enables us to bear the sor-
rows of the saddest life that peoples even
solitude with the happy millions yet to
be; religion born, not of selishness and
fear, but of love and hope that gladly
bears the burdens of the unborn.
I'm the presence of death how beliefs
and dogmas wither and decay; how low
ing 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
for 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
hope through all the ages has been whis-
pering to love. The miracle of thought
we cannot understand. The mystery of
death and hope we cannot comprehend.
This chaos to 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 tho future has never yet
been told. We love; we wait; we hope.
The more we love, the more we fear; upon
the tenderest heart the deepest shadows
fall. ALI paths, whether filed with
thorns or flowers, end here. Here sue
cess and failure are the same. The rag
of wretchedness and the purple robe Of
power lose difference and distinction in
the Democracy of death; character alone
survives, goodness alone survives; love
alone is immortal. But to these comes
time when the favored lips Of life long
fer 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 20, and
from thence revelation has not come; but
let us believe that over the cradle nature
bends and smiles and lovingly above the
dead in benediction holds her out
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