Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1912-07-12
SATURDAY NIGHT
&NS SERMONS
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THE QUESTION or THE AGES.

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Job xiv, IA.
Larger question never found its way
to human brain. eff a man die'-no
need Of Scripture or philosophy to
prove ut is appointed unto man once
to de-" Sir Walter Scott wandering
through the streets Of exhumed Pom
peii mutters over and over again, "City
of the dead" Well could he mutter
the same wandering through our city
streets Builders Of our blocks, found
ers Of our establishments, writer's of
Iur books, long ago were dust.
Country Lane and city street all lead
to one spot-the cemetery. The worlds
shuttles fly fast to weave Grape for
every doorknob. The worlds emblem
not a lily, but skull and crossbones.
One vehicle stops before hut and man
sion-it is known by its black plum
age. No Euclid needed to prove all
things are passing.
If we were not here yesterday and
won't be here tomorrow, where are we
going? Job is on the dismal ash heap.
sick Of the world thatOnow Is, wonder
ing If there Is yet another to come. try
ing to read a guidebook in the dark,
in the teeth Of the gale endeavoring to
light his torch. "If man die shall he
live again." is his ptteous cry.
Question Upon Question.
What is man-an organ or an organ
ist, violin or violinist, boat or boat
man, house or tenant? What is life
water poured on ground, no hope Of
getting it again? Is it shadow, here
this moment, gone the next? Is 1t a
cloud of mist, in the heavens now,
dissipated when the sun rises2 Is it a
thread in a weaver's loom broken, cut
Will some sl1illful hand gather the
ends together? Is it a pilgrims tent,
if taken down may be set up again
What is the grave-a door or a blind
window, an entrance or an exit, the
way down or the way up? Do we go
to the grave or through the grave? Is
it the beginning or the end, the rising
curtain or falling? Don't ask nature
That inverted bowl we call the sky.
Whereunder crawling, coop'd, We live and
die:
Lift not your hands to it for help, for 1t
AS impotently moves as you or I.
Strange if there's only three score
years and ten! The elephant may live
200 the giant redwood 1000. Phidias
constructed the Parthenon 2,400 years
ago Phidias lived but seventy-two.
Is the Parthenon greater than Phi
dias? Does the design live and the
designer die? Praxiteles chiseled
Hermes 300 years before Christ. Is
the sculpture immortal and the sculp-
tor mortal? Is the work greater
than the worker? Is "Evangeline"
greater than Iongfeuow? Does the
thought live and the thinker die? John
Howard Payne wrote Home, Sweet
Home" Does the song live and the
singer die?
The Great Riddle.
In his brief walk from cradle to
grave man outlives ten bodies, changes
bone system half a dozen times, re-
places brain fiber every six months,
yet he knows friends Of fifty years
ago, and they know him. What holds
that constant flux of matter in con-
tinual identity Of form? Must be
fixed identity within. Can that be
what Paul meant, ''There is physical
body, and there is spiritual body?'
What is it that thinks-brain or I? Is
the gray matter in the skull I? Does
it secrete thought "as the liver secretes
bile? Is this column Of words and
sentences so much glycerophosphate
sodium or oxygen, Or-hold firm rein
my soul!-am l the charioteer, with
wondrous vehicle and blooded steeds 81
o thou eternal One, thy likeness calls
have body; I am soul. Desires ar
prophetic. What means this gnaW
ing hunger for the beyond, this eter
| nal inconsistencies of the soul? Never
homing pigeon felt surer sense OF oil
rection, never robin call Of SUMMER
cline It must be so, Plato; thou
reasonest we'll!
Signals Of Hope.
"Why should it be thought a thing
incredible with you that God should
raise the dead%' But with what body
I know not nor care. Nor does grub II
ooze of creek bed know Of dragon fy''
body. Nor does caterpillar understand
its translated mother, the butterfly
Nor can deaf and dumb make blind
comprehend glor1es Of sunset. Let hin
argue who will. 'Tisn't proved tina
way! I've gone down to the beacl
with a mother I've given last greet
ing, smiled through rain Of tears
I've seen anchor weighed, harbor ba
cleared, fluttered farewell, watches
the CLINT of snowy sail as it passe'
through Golden Gate on to the bosom
of great eternity And I've seen AM
known Of others, mighty army yes
terday, many going today.
Part Of the host has crossed the flood
And part are crossing now.
Day is breaking over Judean hills
There's a CLINT Of fire tipping the TEN
pie and palace. A mist hovers owe