{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-12:tribute-to-ebon-c-ingersoll",
  "slug": "tribute-to-ebon-c-ingersoll",
  "title": "A Tribute to Ebon C. Ingersoll",
  "subtitle": "Washington, D.C., May 31, 1879.",
  "excerpt": "The most famous of Ingersoll's grave-side addresses — his tribute at the funeral of his brother Ebon in Washington, May 1879. 'Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities.'",
  "year": 1879,
  "volume": 12,
  "category": "Tribute",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/tribute-to-ebon-c-ingersoll/",
  "wordCount": 865,
  "body": "Washington, D. C., May 31, 1879.\n  • The funeral of the Hon. E. C. Ingersoll took place\n    yesterday afternoon at four o'clock, from his late\n    residence, 1403 K Street The only ceremony at the house,\n    other than the viewing of the remains, was a most affecting\n    pathetic, and touching address by Col. Robert G. ingersoll,\n    brother of the deceased. Not only the speaker, but every one\n    of his hearers were deeply affected. When he began to read\n    his eloquent characterization of the dead man his eyes at\n    once filled with tears. He tried to hide them, but he could\n    not do it, and finally he bowed his head upon the dead man's\n    coffin in uncontrollable grief It was only after some delay,\n    and the greatest efforts a self-mastery, that Colonel\n    Ingersoll was able to finish reading his address. When he\n    had ceased speaking, the members of the bereaved family\n    approached the casket and looked upon the form which it\n    contained, for the last time. The scene was heartrending.\n    The devotion of all connected with the household excited\n    the sympathy of all and there was not a dry eye to be seen.\n    The pall-bearers—Senator William B. Allison, Senator James\n    G. Blaine, Senator David Davis, Senator Daniel W Voorhees.\n    Representative James A. Garfield, Senator A. S Paddock,\n    Representative Thomas Q. Boyd of Illinois, the Hon. Ward H.\n    Lermon, ex-Congressman Jere Wilson, and Representative Adlai\n    E. Stevenson of Illinois—then bore the remains to the\n    hearse, and the lengthy cortege proceeded to the Oak Hill\n    Cemetery, where the remains were interred, in the presence\n    of the family and friends, without further ceremony.—\n    National Republican, Washington, D. C., June 3, 1879.\n\nDEAR FRIENDS: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would\ndo for me.\n\nThe loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where\nmanhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were\nfalling toward the west.\n\nHe had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest\npoint; but being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and\nusing his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that\nkisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured\nwith the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust.\n\nYet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour\nof all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash\nagainst the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a\nsunken ship. For whether in mid-sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther\nshore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every\nlife, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment\njeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep\nand dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.\n\nThis brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but\nin the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic\nsouls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below,\nwhile on his forehead fell the golden dawning of the grander day.\n\nHe loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to\ntears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly\ngave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully\ndischarged all public trusts.\n\nHe was a worshiper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand\ntimes I have heard him quote these words: \"_For Justice all place a\ntemple, and all season, summer_.\" He believed that happiness is the only\ngood, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only\nreligion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy;\nand were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom\nto his grave, he would sleep tonight beneath a wilderness of flowers.\n\nLife is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two\neternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud,\nand the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless\nlips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of\ndeath hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.\n\nHe who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the\nreturn of health, whispered with his latest breath, \"I am better now.\"\nLet us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that\nthese dear words are true of all the countless dead.\n\nThe record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our\ndead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.\n\nAnd now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved,\nto do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust.\n\nSpeech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler,\nstronger, manlier man.\n"
}