Los Angeles herald., 1906-10-29
IN MEMOR|AM
IS CRY OF AGES
PASTOR HOWARD INTERPRETS
TsNNYSoN
Says English Poets Masterpiece Was
Not Biography Of one Man, but Of
Countless Thousands Since
Fall OF Man

"Tennysons In Memoriam' was the
aubject of an interesting lecture de-
Iivered last night by Rev. Bert Estes
Howard, pastor of the Church of the
Unity. South Flower street. He said
IN part:
III have never known Somersby In
Lincolnshire, but I have often heard
II described and the pastoral country
all about and the quiet scattered
homes. One can picture the rectory
with something of a monastic sweet
ness and quiet. An ancient Norman
cross Is standing In the church yard,
and perhaps there is still a sound in
the air of the bleating Of hocks.
"The wind that goes blowing where
IL listeth once came sweeping through
the garden OF this old Lincolnshire
rectory and, as the wind blew, q sturdy
child of five years with shining locks
stood opening his arms upon the blast
and letting himself be blown along,
and. as he travelled on he made his
first line of poetry and said, I hear
a voice that's speaking in the wind,
and he tossed his arms and the gust
whirled on, sweeping into the great
abyss of winds
ALFRED Tennyson was born August
6, 1909. He has heard many voices
calling to him since when he listened
to the wind as he played alone in his
fathers garden or Joined the other
children at their games and jousts.
They were noble little clan Of poets
and of knights coming of a knightly
race with castles to defend and with
mimic tournaments to fight. Somersby
was so behindhand in its echoes that
though the early part Of the century
was stirring with the clang of legions,
few of its rumors seem to have reached
the children. They never had heard of
the battle Of Waterloo. They grew up
together, playing their own games, liv-
ing their own lives: and where is such
life to be found as that of happy,
eager family of boys and girls before
doubt, the steps of time, the shocks
cf chance, the blows Of death. have
come to shake their creed?
Death Strains Faith
LAS the young Alfred rounded into
manhood there came into his life an
experience that tore at the roots of his
soul and strained to the uttermost
limit the simple faith that he had
learned in the peaceful rectory at
Somersby 1t was the old experience
that so many have to meet in the way
that all have to face sooner or later
when the
Shadow cloaked from head to foot,
Who keeps the keys to all the creeds,'
whispers in the ear of our beloved
the dread word which none may dis
obey, and leaves Us crying blindly for
The touch OF a. vanished hand,
And the sound of q voice that is still
Few friendships are so close and
intimate as that which knitted the soul
of young Tennyson to the soul of Ar
thur Hallam. Few men seem so
worthy of deep and lasting affection,
a love that outwears the years and
waits not on the calendar, as was this
radiant spirit. whose genial glow pene-
trated the depths of Tennyson's heart.
For four short years the companion
ship of the two men was complete and
perfect"
The speaker read the section of the
poem where the shadow appears on
the scene, and Tennyson's young
friend dies. He continued:
"ln Memoriam" Is a Poem
THE tide that is born of the restless
sea sings to the low cliffs by Clevedon
church its oft-repeated melody that it
learned before the years were num-
bered or men had reckoned time; and
this poem, born of troubled soul,
chants the wall of common grief that
runs like somber diapason through
human life, from it's far off beginning
to its far off end.
In Memoriam' is more than an
utterance Of an individual grief 1t
is primarily a poem, rather than a
biography. Through it one hears the
cry of all ages, from tine voice of Eve
bending over her dead to the last sob
of those who watch with tear dimmed
eyes.
"The doubt about it all, the wistful
search for the key that shall unlock
the thrice-barred door of another life.
the grim struggle of the brute indif-
ference Of nature with the eager hopes
of men, the persistence of faith as She
gropes her way through the unanswer-
ing silence and the love that endures
as seeing invisible, are all woven into
The tissues OF the poem, until, like q
great harp, it seems to sing its re-
sponse to every mood Of the human
SOUL"