The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1896-12-07


on the unready though shining grain.
What does 1t mean to the mother, with her
infant hope pale and stricken in her arms
What does it mean to those who walk in sad
ate, domestic virtue, bridal beauty, virgin
innocence, summoned thus imperatively into
its dim and silent kingdom? What does 1t
mean when manly usefulness, arm of
strength, heart of bravery teeming brain of
genius. drop all their purposes and file off as
unransomed conscripts. in the great army
that forever march through its gates?
The stern old theology Of the past that
taught the doctrine Of endless punishment
has ceased to be belief among the masses
of today and this change of thought has
done much to rob the grave Of its terrors.
We know that death does not end ALL" and
that there are consultations that make death
reconcilable even to the most intense lover
of this life.
passage to a larger state-our momentary
eclipse of sight, only the transition of twi-
light consciousness into the vision of open
day; and though we must lie down and die,
and bodily quit this pleasant world, we shall
have more intimate acquaintance with its
most familiar things, land know as we are
known!"
The thought that though we may walk the
fields of earth with human feet no more, nor
see with eyes that crumbling back to
dust, these marvellous professions of nature
the setting suns the mellow moons, the rip
pies on the summer wheat, the shadows on
the mountains breast, nor grasp the hand Of
friendship, nor look with answering light into
the face Of love, nor mingle with its tide OF
enterprise, nor feel the movements Of the
worlds great heart; the thought that still we
shall see all, feel all. know all, with finer
cogniZance, or else go forth to wider activi-
ties and purer joys. Conceptions like these
strip the gloom from death, even from those
whose assurance has not been clear and
strong; but who does not shrink from the
belief that death is an eternal Sleep. Man
indicates his profoundest needs by his high
oct IC Mat fah 1G fO hos q
grasp is brightest to his vision The crav-
ings of his soul are betrayed in his associa-
tons with the idea Of rest" 1t is to rest
that he looks forward in his most eager pur-
suits. This Is to be the end of wealth, of
power, of fame-some niche of glory, where
he may repose upon his honors, some sunny
retreat, in which his later life may slowly
turn away like summer evening. What
blessing do we acknowledge in literal rest;
in the sleep, whose soft oblivion makes an
island of every day. and breaks the hold Of
continuous care; that cools the hot BRAIN and
battles the weary eyelids, and let's the buffet
ed and laundering heart cast anchor every
night in some harbor OF happy dreams. We
feel the benefcence Of that law, which makes
its tents, and In the great democracy Of
nature levels the children of men in COM
mon helplessness, and common need; finding
no conditions so wretched, no spot so bleak,
that even the most desperate cannot recline
nearer to the bosom of the common mother
and forget for little while their sorrow and
their care.
And when we would soften the gloom of the
grave and find consolation in that which Is
inevitable, we think Of it as place of kindly
rest-a port where the storms Of life never
beat and the forms that have. been tossed
on its chatting waves lie quiet forever more.
There the child nestles as peacefully as ever
it did in its mothers arms-and the work.
mans hands lie still by his side-and the
thinkers brain Is pillowed in silent misery,
and the poor girls broken heart is stepped In
n
in the keeping Of a charity that covers all
blame. Always this idea OF unbroken quiet
broods round the grave; In sunshine and in
moonlight, under the watch Of the midnight
sky, when December snow transforms the
poorest mound into sculptured marble, or
summer glorifies 1t with It's procession Of flow
ers.
Death makes beautiful appeal to charity
Recollected in the tender light Of affection, all
its features gathered UP in sympathy, every
fault softened away and only the good made
prominent the image thus rising before us,
sheds upon our hearts stronger and better
influence than when it was embodied amidst
the evil of this world.
The worst of us may leave behind some gen
tie memory that, to fond hearts.
done, some good trait may be re-
membered of us that will here and there
awaken a sympathy that will drop kindly dew
upon our grave. That life must indeed be
bad from which we cannot gather our little
flower of memory, that we are glad to cherish
and that always sends a fragrance round the
departed name. The lesson to be CLEANED from
the observance of Memorial Sunday is the
frailty and uncertainty of human life.
AS the silver cord loosens, the revolutions
Of the wheel of life are fastened. and with a
more solemn prophecy comes each successive
autumn and each Memorial Sunday" Each
recurring season, though it be with an index
Of flowers, marks off later figure ON the
dial of our years.
How does the perpetual renewal of the
n at Iynrl RI Oy1d
never returning bloomi We fade and grow
old and perish, but nature keeps ever young.
be our care, our sorrow what it may, the
earth renews its po1np and the heavens their
brightness. All these processes are unaf-
fected by our experience The grass will grow
as green, the leaves will twinkle as gloriously
in the golden light to cheer and welcome new
generations a thousand years hence We may
come to regard the gloomiest fact Of all as
wise and beautiful process. We see that
in the natural world death Is only the agent
quivering atom in that wealthy universe ever
persisted. Year by year In the human frame
there is not the same matter but there is
the same individuality-the same personality
the same man; yet not flake of this per-
petually circulating matter dies. Does then
this personal essence this primal font of
thought and consciousness ever die?
Flowers may wither in the bud. they have
no consciousness, no desire, no limitless ca
pacity, but intellect folded in the bud does
that absolutely perish?
The starry light of intellect. does that go out
in darkness? The orb of thought and genius.
does that rise never more? The good man s
life outrunning all selfish aspirations to be a
balm and blessing in the world; to be eyes
to the blind and feet to the lame, a help to
those who are ready to perish Is the uni
from the roll of being?
The bud withers, but no kindred bud takes
its whitening to heart, or yearns for its
renewal, but the bud that drops from the
mothers bosom, overshadowed by the petals
Of her yearning love, tell us not that that has
no renewal-nO poisoning in more genial air
for then you mock deathless instinct.
Let us look upon this mystery and shadow
of death, not final limit, but as a won
drous veil, behind which brood things that
eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither
had the heart of man conceived. So the
mother parts with her babe so the dearest
relationships can be surrendered, so we lift
the folds of death and pass beyond.
Earth with its dark and dreadful ills
Recedes and fades away,
Lift up your heads, We heavenly hills,
Ye gates Of death, give way.
My soul is full of whispered song,
My blindness is my sight,
The shadows that I feared so long
Are all alive with light.
Meanwhile my pulses family beat
My faith does SO abound
feel grow firm beneath my feet,
The green immortal ground.
That faith to me a courage gives
Deep as the grave to CO.
/ know that my Redeemer lives,
That shall live know.
The palace walls I almost see,
Where dwelis my Lord and King,
~Oh, Gravel Where is thy victory?
Oh, Death! Where Is thy sting?
"Galilee," a tenor solo rendered by
A. P. Quesnel with violin obligato by
George DAM, was a musical selection
wholly in keeping with the occasion.
It's sentiment and words were typical
of the Masters concern for suffering
hIlYnan ifV and the AYNRlln11f rrninn in