Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1900-07-13
parliamentarians--that leader of Lead
ers-James G. Blaine.
Grafton at the Funeral of His Broth

Grafton at the Funeral of His Broth
CIR Ebcn.
Dear Friends: | am going to do that
which the dead oft promised he would
do for me.
The loved and loving brother, hrs-
band, father, friend, died where man
hoods morning almost touches noon
and while the shadows still were fall
ing toward the West
He had not passed on life's highway
the stone that marks the highest point
but, being weary for moment, he
lay down by the wayside, and, using
his burden for pillow, fell into that
dreamless sleep that kisses down the
eyelids still. While yet in love with
life and raptured with the world, he
passed to silence and pathetic dust
Yet, after all, it may be best, just
in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the
voyage, while eager winds are kissing
every sail, to dash against the unseen
rock and in an instant hear the pillows
roar above a sunken ship. For wheth-
er in mid sea or mong the breakers
of the farther shore, a wreck at last
must mark the end of each and all.
And every life, no matter if it's every
hour is rich with love and every mo-
ment jeweled with a Joy, will, at its
close, become tragedy as sad and
deep and dark as can be woven of the
warp and wool of mystery and death.
This brave and tender man in every
storm of life was oak and rock; but
in the sunshine he was vine and flower.
He was the friend OF all heroic souls.
He climbed the heights and left all
superstition far below, while on his
forehead fell the golden dawning of
grander day.
He loved the beautiful, and was with
color, form and music touched to
tears He sided with the weak, the
poor and wronged, and lovingly gave
aims. With loyal heart and with the
purest hands he faithfully discharged
all public trusts.
He was a worshipper of liberty, a
friend of the oppressed. A thousand
times l have heard him quote these
words: For jus.1ce all place a tenn
pie, and all seasons summer" He be-
Heved that happiness was the only
good, reason the only torch, justice
the only worship, humanity the only
religion, and love the only peace. He
added to the sum of human joy; and
were every one to whom he did some
loving service to bring a blossom to
his grave, he woulu sleep tonight be-
meath a wilderness of flowers.
Life is a narrow vale between the
cold and barren peaks OF two eterni-
ties We strive in vain to look be-
yond the heights. We cry aloud, ana
the only answer is the echo of our
wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of
the unreplying dead there comes no
word; but in the night OF death nope
sees a star, and listening love can hear
the rustic of a wing
He who sleeps here, when dying,
mistaking the approach Of death for
the return of health, whispered with
his latest breath: Il am better now
Let us believe, in spite of doubts and
dogmas, of fears and tears, that these
dear words are true of all the count
less dead.
The record of a generous life runs
like vine around the memory of our
dead, and every sweet, unselfish act, is
now a perfumed flower.
And now, to you, who have been
chosen from among the many men he
loved, to do the last sad Office for the
dead, We give his sacred dust.
Speech cannot contain our love.
There was, there is, no gentler, strong
er, manlier man.