The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1899-02-19
TRIBUTE TO MYRoN REED.
From Address by Father William
Organ at the Funeral.
Denver Republican.

Denver Hepublcan.
During; these past eleven years we met
frequently, sometimes every day, we spoke
as friends and not as acquaintanceS-from
the open heart. And this would be my
plete idea of him: II there was in our time
a religion of humanity, distinct from the
church, and it had true priest, a prophet
with a burning heart, that man, priest and
prophet was Myron Reed. He had not been
taught many supernatural truths which my
faith tells me were the teachings of Jesus
of Nazareth, nevertheless, in the gospel of
humanity, which was also taught and lived
by that same Divine Teacher, Myron Reed
desired and strove. as truly as any man I
know, to approximate Christ. Behind the
apparently quiet and cold exterior there
famed a spirit afire with passion for hui
manity. He did not merely talk humanity,
he lived it. He gave his time, his money, all
except that necessary for decent living
he gave himself to the lowly and poor the
suffering and erring of his kind.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride.
He was one with the workers side by side:
He would never believe but a man was made
For nobler end than the glory of trade
He was weak, maybe, but he lost no friend,
Who loved him once, loved on to the end
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor,
But he never injured a weak one-never
While censure was passed he was kindly
dumb;
He was never so wise but fault would
come.
He erred and was sorry; but he never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true
When friends look back from the years to
be,
God grant they may say such things of me-"
| often wished that Myron Reed were a
Catholic priest. Had he been, with all his
high qualities, with mis- marvellous gift of
speech, not elOquence In the ordinary sense
of the word, but higher than eloquence, the
eloquence of man who saw, and observed,
and knew, and had the soul to understand
man and nature, like Job of old or the
Preacher, my old mother church would have
appreciated him. and used him, and honored
him, and surrounded him with care and dig
nifty such as no sect of them all ever could
The finest men in the world are often flung
aside, the rarest flowers of our kind are
trampled under rude feet, Cincinnatus is
oftenest left at the plow tbs well If he
gains even that peaceful obscurity, while
Mr. Doubeface and Mr. Sleek Fellow, and
Mr.. Oily Politician and Mr.. Bumptious Ig
norance are thrust into place and power
Many in Denver were the lovers of Myron
Reed; still. with my knowledge of him, l
must believe that our city never half APP
preclated or understood the man that was
amongst us. Twill be with him as with 9TH
ers of the worlds great ones years from
now, when the grasses will have greened
and Withered through many a passing sea-
son over his grave-and o how he loved
the grasses and trees with the Celtic pas
sion for nature! People will speak of him
with admiration and reverence, of his
splendid intellect, his manlness, his kindli-
ness. his infinite tenderness, that pitied eV-
cry suffering creature: his ready ability to
forgive slight and injury, the charity of the
man that made him loath to attribute
mean or unworthy motives to even his enc
ILleS. his NoTuS OF wisdom, preserved IN
book and memory will be a greater inspi-
ration for the generation that shall follow
us than ever they were for ours. Dead, he
will live.
IT cannot say and I will not say
That he is dead He is Just away
With a CHEEKY smile and a wave Of the
hand
He has wandered into an unknown land
and left us dreaming how very fair
II needs must be since he fingers there.
Ihlnk OF him, farlng on, as dear
In the love of there as the love of here"