Amador ledger., 1910-02-18
In Memorian


Wheeler, who died on the 3lst OF
January, l9lO at FELTON,, Stanta Cruz
county, | have written and dedicated to
him the following poem. Probably no
one outside of Mr. wheeler's cwn family
knew him better than |. have known
him from my boyhood up, for more than
half century. He was man of honest
convictions, and a man too of remark
able ability. He was not that class of a
man YOU could weigh in dollars and
cents, for he had but little of this
worlds goods, measured by the standard
of gold. But wealth no man could
take and is immortal, was the wealth of
intellect understandable. He bore his lot
in life with fortitude and patience. No
man came to Mr. Wheeler for favor
and failed to get it if he was able to
grant it, He was a counsellor, sound
logical and honest, and many avaled
themselves of an opportunity to ask his
advice He was not collegiate, but he
in q sense was a walking encyclopedia.
In politics he had been most OF his life
a republican. In religion he was an
agnostic, holding as that greatest of
reasoners Herbert E. Spencer, that
human intellect was incapable of grasp
ing the infinite, and as Spencer eX-
pressed it. an 'unthinkabe PROPOSE
tion." With the passing away of Mr.
Wheeler, has gone man that could lily
be lost, for his intrinsic virtue was al
ways human, generous and right, and he
lived and stood as prototype in bis
life's action that might well be i'm
itated. May the invisible wings inn
mediately spread themselves above
him. With the greatest of friendship,
have dedicated this poem to my
cherished and lifelong friend, Stephen
C. Wheeler.
One, two, one, and the clock grew still,
All sound had died in its walls;
Silently and shadowy it brought thrill
AS it lifted shadowy pail.
One, two, one, the sound was gone,
And it fitted unheard away.
One, two, one, it stopped at dawn
For the burst of the coming day.
Whether amid ETHEREAL light
Dost the spirit of man depart;
Winding its way through shadows of
night,
Seeking celestial art.
No one returns, I've oft heard said,
To tell of flowery vale;
So No one returns from the realms of
the dead,
Depicting a weird tale.
But stop did ye hear the clock once
more,
Ticking low and still;
In muffled tones tis tolling again
An action of life to fill
Away through intricate space and time,
In shadow its ticking again,
In immortal spirit forever to shine
And forever and aye remain.
Don't tell me then that God is here;
For He sits on a spectral throne,
Where no uncalled theory can warp
away,
And no mortal can ever own.
The stars, the elements, the sea and all
To Him is secret dream;
He watches the sun in effulgent glow,
AS it shoots through golden stream.
He watches the sea in tumulutous roar,
Where the proud ship grandly rides
Where breakers burst along the shore
In godly majestic pride,
Can We stop it, ye fools of theory or
theme
And drive back the maddenng wave?
Can ye stop the roar of the sea with its
force,
Or defy human grave?
Nay, the Almighty's hand is laid on
your soul
To cast your life aside,
He will ask you not for fer your cast or
mold
In YOUR lordly human pride,
For He alone is master of fate
Master OF land and sea,
Master OF all that's small or great,
And master of destiny.
Then peace to thy ashes, my noble one,
For thy soul is with thy God;
He has taken you up to celestial fame,
Out from the earthly sod.
CHAS S. BELL.
Goats for Sale.