The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1899-03-16

| DlED-Sunudv, Mdrcn lZtD, 1879,
at his home in Miller, Frank
W. Olson, aged Is years and three
months. He was the second son OF
Mr.. and Mrs. p. Olson, born in Aud
ubon county, Iowa, and moved to
Alpha township, this county, in
1882, where he has assisted his
father in farming Frank was a
well-liked, Industrious, robust boy,
when a few months ago he began
failing OF consumption, ending inhis
death Sunday.
Funeral services occurred yester-
dav ut the Evangelical church, con-
Quoted by the pastor Rev. Carswell,
assisted by Rev. Norvell, Rev.
Bates and the Presbyterian choir.
Many people assembled to pay
their last respects to one OF their
number, and the remains were laid
to rest in the |. 90. f. cemetery be-
side the brother.
Sad, indeed, in itself was this an
nouncment Sunday, but doubly so
following the death of their oldest
son William. Such unusual misfor-
tune calls for a sincere and general
sympathy from the hearts OF a peo-
pie who, whatever may be their daily
differences, unite at the bier to
mingle their tears OF sorrow and
sympathy in that Christian spirit of
''bear .ye one anOther's burdens.
The frailties OF humanity, the trivial
affairs Of everyday life, the likes and
dislikes, the ambitions-alike all dis
appear as the melting snow before
the Sun $ midday heat and the warm
airs breath when the Divine Father
sees it is again time to impress His
hayward children and startle them
into a realizing sense OF their cOndi-
ton by applying one of the written
laws of nature in His grand scheme
of Creation.
Day by day, hour by hour, in this
selfish, strife seeking life of unrest
and ill-reward, we drift away from
the sweet incense of Gods love SO
lavishly offered us in the simple
mysteries of nature unfolded every
where Il bout us by the days bright
light and life, or by the nights SOL
emn calm and repose. Too far away
we wander from the innocent child
hood of His selection-out upon the
trackless waste OF uncOnquerable de-
sire-until, suddenly, the sharp clang
of misfortune's bell sounds the warn
ing note that turns our eyes back
ward over the weary path strewn
with blasted hopes and ill-kept prom
Uses to that simple childhood whence
we came.
Will God, in his infinite mercy, take
us Home again? Will He lead us
back ever the prairie waste, thro'
the tangled wildwood of mis-spent
lives from mothers knee to the coffin
cold embrace? The Christian s faith
SAYS yea. That must ever be the
light, the hope-the one beacon to
erring humanity. No eve can see
thro the vale of death, no mind can
fathom that which lies beyond the
graves oblivion; no boat crests the
wave on it's return trip from the
other shore bearing a message from
those gone before-all is doubt and
fear and darkness-except the one
bright star of Bethlehem. Dare we
deny it's light? Nay, not when our
own departs forever; not when our
own plunges into this unknown eter-
nifty; not when our own severed
bonds cry out in anguish tor reunion
somewhere, somehow. To each ofus
in turn comes these sorrows, these
losses. The stricken father, the fond
mother, the loving sisters and broth
ers, each feel their sacred grief in
their own way-but all cling to that
one hope that a merciful Father wise
Iy directs all things for the good OF
his children.