The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-07-12
ILLINOIS.
Extracts from the Address of Rev. Mr.. lyle =
hart at the Funeral of Litta.

Extracts from the Address of Rev. Mr.. lyle e
hart at the Funeral of Litta.
Bloomington IlL.) Paragraph.
Nature became a mourner when Litta died;
her cloud were Grape and her showers tears.
Decay has done a cruel work. By its con-
quest pride has been humbled, ambition
Knocked, and hope destroyed. The lovely
forms of nature, the proud structures of art,
the boosted systems of society, the sweet ties
of earth, all stand alike powerless in the
presence of this foe. Along the edge of the
porch, and at the foot of the lattice, and
under the window you planted the little dark
seeds that have grown to be morning-glory
vines. The spiral blossoms unfold in the
morning, and III the evening the delicate and
exquisitely beautiful petals are closed for
ever-a picture of the evanescence of earthly
forms, the beauty that blooms for a few hours
and fades, of the glory that flashes and then
dies. One moment one of the great artists
OF the world, the next a corpse.
What a change, and yet only a human
life separates these conditions. Thin, silken,
a cobweb easily brushed away by the hand
of death. Il Il II
All systems of mythology have their origin
in men and women who have arisen like
giants above their fellows in some depart
ment of thought or action. If Lltta had
lived in the far-away past she would have
been considered divine. A shrine would
have been builded in her honor, and she
would have been worshiped as the goddess
OF song. Her towering genius and success
made her a favorite of the world-the idol Of
the city of her nativity. y n =
Over tins forehead l write purity; over
this breast | write love; all over this coffin |
write work, work, work. Overworked, she
has laid down TO rest. 'Tis the old story of
genius, too delicate, too dazzling for a stormy
world. 1t is the old story of genius, whose
fires burn the house it tenants, whose wings
break the cage in its struggles to be free.
Her sensibilities were as largely endowed
and as fully cultivated as was her intellect
or her will. Her genius sought them as the
channels of the largest usefulness, as the
instruments of the highest JOY, and APP
pears in them to as great an advantage
as in the intellect in pursuing her art, or
IN the employment of her will in over
coming the obstacles that interposed her
progress. With these affections she blessed
herself and blessed the world. To every one
she was a lighted candle in a darkened room,
the sunshine scattering away the clouds of a
rainy day. She was the lustre of a diamond,
the song of a bird, the melody of a harp, the
fragrance of a bed of roses in June. Her
heart was a bower covered with iessamine
and with honeysuckle where lovers WOO and
win. The last word she spoke before she
died were to a beloved one, kiss me-" and
then she fell asleep. Her love for her friends
was strong; her affection for her relatives
was intense; her devotion to her father and
mother, to her brothers and sisters was I'm
dying. l said a little while ago her aim in
life was excellence in her art. 1t was, and
yet she had a higher aim-the support of
her mother and family. She rises higher in
her character and shines brighter Just here
than at any other point.
1t was genius that drove her Imagination
into the lofty attitudes of song; it was genius
that made the will so strong to snap the cords
that would bind her down, and her genius
employs the sensibilities in her uncommon
devotion to her family. She could not eat
until they were fed, nor rest till she had fur
nished them with a comfortable home. What
if she could have had greater fame2 The
fame of being the finest singer on earth is
not SO great as the news of such love. What
II she did not amasS a fortune? A fortune is
trash when compared with the Jewel of de-
votion. Wealth and fame are nothing to the
sublime heroism she manifested in helping
the helpless, in suffering that others might
be blessed. 4 + Il
1t was the custom of Litta to go to the
groves to hear the birds sing. Her soul of
melody sought melody everywhere. She
took lessons, and the feathered songsters
were her teachers. She would sometimes
analyze the song into the various notes; at
other times she would drink in
the whole song and be charmed
with the music. The beauty of the abso-
lutte came through the chorus OF the trees to
her beautiful soul. You who heard her
sing did not know why it was that she sang
so much like a bird. 1t was because she
was with the birds so much and learned of
them so well. 1t may be she heard the sing
ing in the distant palm groves and went to
listen to it and mingle IN it, According to
an Indian custom | take a bird out OF the
cage and cover it with the kisses of the fami-
ly, with the kisses of this whole city, with
your c~aresses, and send it out to the spirit
that has flown TO bear to her our love.
"ResT Vemaineth, rest from fears;
Rest from parting, rest from tears;
All my restless soul shall be,
Lost, my Saviour, lost in thee.
THUS my Saviour let ME he,
Even here At rest N thee;
And at last by ,m,e possessed,
On thy bosom SINK to r ST."