The Richmond palladium and sun-telegram. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1907-1939, 1910-12-05

Our Absent Brothers, In vain We
call upon them, They have passed
in the light which is beyond the Val
! ley of the Shadow of Death. The
| places that have known them shall
know them no more, and once more
We are called upon TO realize that in
the midst CT life We are in death"
| Thus all things ask for rest,
A home above, home beneath the
sod,
| The sun Will seek the west,
| The bird will seek its nest.
The heart another breast
hereon to lean; the spirit seeks it's
| God"
| Are these memorial exercises a
farewell or a homecoming? A home
coming, in thought. of those who wan
der days journey too far ahead to
catch our hailing sign
They have but turned a corner. Still
They push on with right good will
Through mire and marsh, by hedge
and hill
That self-same patient way,
That selfsame faithful, hopeful way
That we and they through many a
doubtful day
Attempted still.
They in the path we mortals tread
Have gone some trifling steps ahead
And nearer to the end
So that we, too. once past the bend
Shall meet again, our friend
Our brothers are not absent. They
are with us even more truly than
when they answered to their names
and gave the hailing sign Of good fell
lowship.
A mans death reveals his character.
his real self. better than his life
Death is so genuine that it excludes
falsehood and betrays emptiness; it
is the tombstone that proves the gold
and dishonors the baser metal There
is something beautiful and significant
in the revelation Of character which
death makes. AS We look upon the
faces Of those who have fallen asleep
we are stirred with the feeling that
something temporary has vanished
and made room for that which is real
and abiding.
the dust and heat and uproar OF life,
we fail to recognize the greatness and
beauty of those who work beside us.
When death comes and brings it's won
derful silence and all the mists have
cleared away and the clouds have
vanished We see with clearer vision,
and we wonder that our eyes were so
long blinded. AS the years go by and
the perspective of time lengthens, the
true proportions Of character and the
strong lines of life become more dis
tinct and those we call dead, live with
increasing nobility and beauty in the
memories of men who knew them.
The similarity OF our lives with the
the decoration Of the Sistine chapel
appeals to me with added force. AS
our fellow men are building their
lives, strong in their manhood, we see
only the tools, the confusion, the scat
folding. The temple they are erect
ing in beauty, symmetry and adorn-
ment we do not see.
For years Michael Angelo worked in
the Sistine chapel, giving life and
color with his brush to the beautiful
pictures in his mind. His fellow work
men came and went, taking scant no.
tice. The casual passer-by looked on
with curious eye, but offered no word
Of commentator. The great artist
painted on, mixing his paints with
tears, as he said, giving them the quail
ity that appealed to the souls of flu
ture generations. One day he had
finished. The workmen pulled down
the scaffolding and cleared away the
ropes and litter. They looked up and
saw the completed effort, the faces
of angels and the Madonna limned in
lustrous beauty and with wonderful
expression OF compassion and love
and they fell upon their knees in rev.
erence and alteration.
So 1t is with our brethren. They
work on in spite of our Indifference,
in the face of our criticism until they
have finished. The Angel of Death
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