A Most Striking Picture
A MOST STRIKING PICTURE
"It was in June, 1879. This brother had died in Washington, and Colonel Ingersoll stood by the coffin and tried to read his address which he had carefully prepared. His voice became agitated, his form trembled, and his emotion overcame him. Finally he put down the paper, and, bowing himself upon the coffin, as if he would throw his arms about it, he gave vent to uncontrollable grief.' When at last he was able to proceed he raised himself up, and among other words he said these: 'Whether in mid-ocean or mid the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck must mark at last the end of each and all; and every life, no matter if its every hour be filled with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will at the last become a tragedy as sad and dark and deep as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.
Life is a dark and barren vale between the cold and ice clad peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We lift our wailing voice in the silence of the night, and hear no answer but the bitter echo of our cry.'
"Could ever words more sadly hopeless have been uttered at a time like that?
And then he added what to me were the most pathetic words of all - something about 'hope trying to see a star, and listening for the rustle of an angel's wings.'
"Mrs. Browning most truly writes
"'There is no God,' the foolish saith,
But none, 'There is no sorrow.'
And nature oft in bitter need
The cry of faith will borrow.
Eyes which the preacher could not school,
By wayside graves are raised;
And lips cry, 'God be pitiful!'
Which ne'er said, 'God be praised!'
"I think I should like a greater comfort and a better hope than that.