The Bolivar bulletin. (Bolivar, Tenn.) 1888-1946, 1901-05-24
dead, YET SPEAKING"

Remarks delivered by Rev. W. D. PicSens of
Gainesville, Tenn, the occasion of the decora-
ton of graves at Walnut Grove Cemetery, May
18th, 1901, and published by request of committee
in charged
Abel was the first of the sons Of
men to pass from earth to heaven,
and there i'll not a single word left
on record, spoken by him; but che
yet speaketh. His speech, then,
must be by his actions.
A mans life is eternal. He may
be dead but his acts live on. Hon
esty, truth, sobriety, kindness and
smiles, all live after a man is gone.
His life speaks volumes to the world
that will never die. "Yea, saith
the Spirit, that they may rest from
their labours and their works do
follow them"
was once engaged in protrac-
ted meeting with Baptist preacher
who told me that his mother was
widowed lady. She had several
sons to raise and always before re-
firing at night she would read les
son from the Bible and kneel down
and pray for her children, calling
each one by name. She always
called his name last, when she would
break down IN sobs. After she was
dead her prayers and tears so con-
victed him that he gave his heart to
mis- mothers God. And he said he
owed all his success in the ministry
to the life of that mother.
Nearly every thing around us
speaks to us. The sun in the heav-
ems speak to us of the Son of right
eousness that arises with healing in
his wings; the stars tell US Of the
Star Of Bethlehem; the gentle wind
that fans our brow speaks of the
work OF the Holy Spirit; the rain
bow tells US of Gods protection over
us.
There is language that cannot be
described in the touch Of a mothers
hand.
L have read of mother who had
son in the civil war. One day she
received a message that he was
wounded. She took the first train,
and when she reached the hospital
she had to promise the doctor that,
if he would admit her into the room
where her boy lay sleeping, she
would not speak one word to him.
But when she looked into his face |
she could not resist the temptation
to lay her hand once more upon his
brow. When she did this, without
his eyes, he said:>"Mother, |
have you Gomez" lie knew the
touch.
Now, just out yonder is the city |
of the dead. There are a num-
Der of mounds that tell us there are
people there. We walk about and
scatter flowers over their graves,
and for the time it almost seems
that they are brought back to us.
We love to think of the bright faces
and kind deeds of those who now
sleep there. But, Oh! how sad it
would be if we had no hope of see
ing them again! Hope causes us to
strew these flowers and brush the
tears from our cheeks and 90 on.
All things are done by hope. Not
4 stroke of work would be done were
it not in hopes of glorious reward.
When unexpected sorrow comes,
hope acts as an angel of mercy, re-
Lieving our suffering and wiping the
dropping tears from our eyes. Hope
is the sunlight on the hilltop, when
he valley is dark as death; it is the
asst thing that dies in man.
The poet Hesiod tells us that all
he miseries of mankind were in
GUIDED in a great box, and that Pan
lora took off the lid, by which
means all Of them came abroad and
,nly hope remained at the bottom.
The prisoner in his cell has hope
hat some day he will have liberty.
rhe sufferer on his bed has hope;
he homeless wanderer has hope that
lfter awhile he will have a home.
rs we leave these sacred grounds
o-day the star of hope rises before
Is and we say, CATER awhile we'll
zee our loved ones again.
So, 90 on and scatter the flowers ;
md by and by we shall pluck them
IN the sunlit shores and vine-clad
ills, by ripping brooks, in the
aven of rest.