The Greeneville daily sun. (Greeneville, Tenn.) 1918-1920, 1920-06-15
Extracts of Speech Delivered at Prices
Graveyard by G. w. Dobson June 5th

and nearly all our uncles and aunts.
The big dinners, the big gatherings
of merry kisfolks at my house are
no more. he last time mother was
at my house she kissed my children
goodbye at the gate and went away
never to return. The wald grass and
flowers wave over her at Shiloh. The
home comprises all that is worth
while in this life, and mother sup
ports every timber in that home. She
is the spring that every member of
the household goes to to be refreshed.
When in the cleaning the whippoor--
Wills give voice TO the silent brood
ing woods, thoughts Of her brighter
than the stars float up to me through
the gathering gloom from the old
homestead Of the long ago, and | see
the face of an angel in the rose that
bioomed by the garden gate.
"In Memoriam" is the saddest
phrase ever coined by man. After
the red mound; after the crowd pass
es out at the cemetery gate "In Me-
moriam." After this thing you call
life; after this pursuit of worldly
bubbles; after this toll and stress and
strain, the last actor on the scene is
I'm Memoriam." We use flowers as
emblems Of in memoriam. How like
flower is the human lifel Youth,
that is the swelling bud; manhood,
that is the full-blown lose; and age,
that is the withered petals scattered
upon the ground by the wild and wan.
ton wind.
What sweet lives the flowers live.
sometimes blooming by the wayside,
as If to be seen of men; more often in
the secluded spot, careless alike of
praise or blame, but always perform
ing their functions of identifying the
earth and filing the summer air with
their sweet odor. Flowers are every.
where; in the sea, on the prairies,
among the wild grass and on the
crags Of inaccessible mountains.
Weeds almost redeem themselves by
their bloom. The rose blooms on the
air like sweet poem sprung from
the ground.
1t is great day when all the kin
folks come together in family reun-
ion at the old home. The children
aad grandchildren play on the green
and the old folks sit under the trees
in the glow and glimmer of long
gone time. 1t is great day when the
old soldiers come together at their
national encampments and tell of the
deadly charge at Shiloh and Malvern
Hill. But all these gatherings are
nothing compared to the reunion of
all the tribes Of all the races that ever
lived, that live now, that ever will
live. They will come up rom the bill
lows of the sea, from the flower beds
of the tropics and the snow banks of
the north. The Caucasian will be
there, the North American Indian will
be there, the Monaghan will be there
and five races will be there. Who
ever lived expected to live again. 1t
has always been the dream Of man
that ne would live again in the Ely.
sian Fields toward sunset. Intime of
the Great War the English spoke of
dying as "going West" and after
death naked souls may journey for
ever in FURNISHED sunsets.
We are passing away. We are
keeping step to the flow of the rivers
We are timed by the tides in the sea.
The stars in their courses measure off
our earthly careers. We are moving
on to the rear of the invisible freight
of the wind in the trestle of the tree
tops.
l looked down upon the river of
men as it flowed on between the crags
Of Time. "Shall we meet AGAIN." |
said. aye" said the old man with
hope-lit eyes as his white locks min
gled with the breakers. "Aye," said
the young man as he engulphed in the
whirling rapids of unfinished plans.
aye" said the romping child with
sun and moon beams twisted into
flowing locks, as the fowery shores
Of its little life widened into the
sweeping coast lines of the sea of
Forever. aye" said they all, "We