Oh, tell me not that they are dead—that generous host, that airy army of invisible heroes! They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this nation. Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society, and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism? Every mountain and hill shall have its treasured name, every river shall keep some solemn title, every valley and every lake shall cherish its honored register; and, till the mountains are worn out, and the rivers forget to flow, till the clouds are weary of replenishing springs, and the springs forget to gush, and the rills to sing, shall their names be kept fresh with reverent honors which are inscribed upon the book of national remembrance.—Henry Ward Beecher, Evangelical Messenger.
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Dead, Number of the—See Cemetery, The Earth as a.
DEAD, RESPECT FOR THE
The Chinese have such respect for the
dead that they will live in poverty during
life to pay for elaborate ceremonies at the
time of death. An old carpenter whose shop
adjoined the church in Tsicheo, in a time of
business prosperity acquired for himself a
beautiful coffin valued at four hundred
thousand cash. (About $800.) Flood, disease
and two worthless sons brought him to poverty,
so that he was unable to pay the yearly
rental of twenty-two dollars for his shop.
Nevertheless, he was unwilling to part with
his coffin, tho it would have given him a roof
over his head for ten years.
In this same town a very poor Christian woman was forced to become a beneficiary of the church, because relatives who owed her a year's wages would not pay. When she passed away, however, they paid their long-standing debt in a coffin and funeral accessories ungrudgingly.
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DEAD, THE, LIVE BEYOND
He is not dead, but only lieth sleeping
In the sweet refuge of his Master's breast,
And far away from sorrow, toil, and weeping
He is not dead, but only taking rest.
What tho the highest hopes he dearly cherished
All faded gently as the setting sun;
What tho our own fond expectations perished
Ere yet life's noblest labors seemed begun.
What tho he standeth at no earthly altar,
Yet in white raiment, on the golden floor,
Where love is perfect, and no step can falter,
He serveth as a priest for evermore!
O glorious end of life's short day of sadness,
O blessed course so well and nobly run!
O home of true and everlasting gladness,
O crown unfading! and so early won!
Tho tears will fall we bless thee, O our Father,
For the dear one forever with the blest,
And wait the Easter dawn when thou shalt gather
Thine own, long parted, to their endless rest. (Text.)
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DEAD THO ALIVE
There are many "dead" men walking about who do not know they are dead.
An illustration of the logic of Judge
O'Connor is best shown in the case of a
man who had looked long and lovingly on
the flowing bowl. He fell into a deep pit
dug by workmen while fixing the bridge over
the Mohawk River. Several policemen with
ropes got the man out and he was arrested.
Drunk and disorderly was the charge against
him when he stood before Judge O'Connor
somewhat sobered and chastened. "You
were drunk last night," said the court. "No,
sir, your honor, I wasn't drunk." "Why,
you must have been drunk," said the court.
"If you had not been, you would have been
killed by that fall." "Shure, I wazzent
drunk," persisted the culprit. "Then you
are a dead man, so what are you doing here,"
declared the judge; and the man, taking the
hint, walked out somewhat amazed.
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A marvelous thing for these times is reported from Weathersfield, Conn. A convict who has served a sentence of fifty years in the State prison receives his liberty at this Christmas season (1909). In 1859, when he was twenty-one, he murdered his wife, who was only a young girl of eighteen. He is seventy-one now. Every one of the great occurrences in American life which make our modern civilization what it is belongs to that
