The Newtown bee., 1897-08-06
Town Topics.
The Funeral of Dea Fairchild.

ATTENDED FROM THE CONGREGATIONAL
CHURCH LAST WEEK THURSDAY.
The funeral of Dea Henry Fairchild
was held from the Congregational church,
last Thursday afternoon. The church
was filed with a company gathered to
pay their Last respects to his memory. 1t
was indeed a sorrowing congregation, al.
though beneath the grief was the inspir-
ing thought the deceased was at rest, and
in communion with his God The choir
rendered three well known hymns, 1.-THE
sands Of time are sinking" Light after
darkness" and MY Faith Looks Up To
Thee The address Of Rev Mr. Barker,
, the pastor OF the church, was from the
heart, ard touched everyone present. 1t
vas graceful and eloquent tributo to
the memory OF the deceased. He spoke
as follows:
My dear friends, it is only through
consideration of the duty that 1 owe as
his pastor and in thought of the kind
friend that he was to you all, that l say
any THU e about Deacon Henry Fairchild
at this time. | should greatly prefer
that his life should speak to you; what
he i'd and hlr ne lived was far more
eloquent Of good than anything my
poor speech can say. If consulted my
own wishes, | would remain silent
Simply, however, MS suggestion of
thoughts that rise almost unbldden
at this time, | take this verse from Gods
Wo7d, Rev. II: 10: BLESSED are the
lead which die in the Lord from hence
forth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they
may rest from their lahore and their
works do follow them"
As the traveller winds his way up the
volcano of Nesuvius, amid the ruined
waste and sterile dcsolation, sometimes
even on the verge of the smoking crater,
he plucks stray, sweet flower; go, amid
the awful tramp of the Apocalypse,
amid the thunderings of wrath that peal
from the judgment-throne, we come
suddenly and with surprise upon some
stray, sweet flower OF promise, than
which there are none more beautiful IN
any part Ct Gods Word. Amid pictures
OF the outpouring of Gods vengeance
upon His enemies we catch glmpses of
the professions of the redeemed as they
make the glad arches of Heaven ring
with their rejoiceful shouts of praise.
blessed are the dead" Even at its
best estate, there is something dreadful
about death. The paleness of the cheek,
the anguish of the watchers looking for
the last moan, the stiffness of the room,
the familiar voice that is dumb, the fall
ing of the heavy clods upon the coff1n's
lid,-all these things cause US sorrow
and gloom. 1t is, then, matter of Joy
to US all when Gods Word speaks
anthoritatively to say that about death
there is real blessing and grace
"bleased are the dead"
This il not a care leas word. Christi
anity is the only religion that, with any
somblance of truth, can say that. When
Buddhism, when Brahminism, when any
one of the heather religions of the
earth, can say, with the faintest shadow
of truth, that there is any blessing
about death as they teach men to live
and die, then | may begin to think of
being a follower of one OF those re-
ligions. We shall not get the right
lesson from the passing away of our
friend, unless we, unless every little
child who stops to think OF his life at
all, know that 10 this one death was
blessing and peace. For Dea Henry
Fairchild it was not 1.-THE old, old fash
ion DEATH" that Dickens speaks of in his
description of the death Of Little Nell,
but it was the new, new fashion by
which Jesus Christ has brought life and
Immortality to light. For him death
was not a descent into the grave, 1t was
an ascent into the skies; not an extinct
ion, going out of the flame, but re-
kindling of it at the altar fires; not a
taking away of all that was dearest and
best loved but putting on of the
heavenly and the beautiful; not a be-
clouding of life's sun, but an outshining
of the Sun of Righteousness not an I'M
clothing to shame, bat a robing with the
spiritual and the divine. He felt, in his
last days, very much as the aged saint to
whom a friend addressed the words, 81
congratulate you, my brother, that you
are still in the land of the living" "Ah
no. replied the one almost at the
border-land, ~ am still in the land OF
the dying, but shall soon-I shall
soon be in the land of the living" TIC
our dear friend death was life. We dc
not live here; this is only mockery OF
life. Here we pant, we struggle, we
groan, we vex ourselves with thous
and fpars. there the hioheat