d tree than to the cypress. While
the pool putrefies under the summer sun, God slips the rill off of the
rocks with a frolicsomeness that fills the mountain with echo. No doubt
constitutional structure had much to do with this cheerfulness. He had, by
a life of sobriety, preserved his freshness and vigor. You know that good
habits are better than speaking tubes to the ear; better than a staff to
the hand; better than lozenges to the throat; better than warm baths to the
feet; better than bitters for the stomach. His lips had not been polluted,
nor his brain befogged, by the fumes of the noxious weed that has sapped
the life of whole generations, sending even ministers of the Gospel to
untimely graves, over which the tombstone declared, 'Sacrificed by overwork
in the Lord's vineyard,' when if the marble had not lied, it would have
said, 'Killed by villainous tobacco!' He abhorred anything that could
intoxicate, being among the first in this country to join the crusade
against alcoholic beverages. When urged, during a severe sickness, to take
some stimulus, he said, 'No! If I am to die, let me die sober!' The swill
of the brewery had never been poured around the roots of this thrifty
almond. To the last week of his life his ear could catch a child's
whisper, and at fourscore years his eyes refused spectacles, although he
would sometimes have to hold the book off on the other side of the light,
as octogenarians are wont to do. No trembling of the hands, no rheum in
the eyes, no knocking together of the knees, no hobbling on crutches with
what polite society terms rheumatism in the feet, but what everybody knows
is nothing but gout. Death came, not to fell the gnarled trunk of a tree
worm-eaten and lightning-blasted, but to hew down a Lebanon cedar, whose
fall made the mountains tremble and the heavens ring. But physical health
could not account for half of this sunshine. Sixty-four years ago a coal
from the heavenly altar had kindled a light that shone brighter and
brighter to the perfect day. Let Almighty grace for nearly three-quarters
of a century triumph in a man's soul, and do you wonder that he is happy?
For twice the length of your life and mine he had sat in the bower of the
promises, plucking the round, ripe clusters of Eshcol. While others bit
their tongues for thirst, he stood at the wells of salvation, and put his
lips to the bucket that came up dripping with the fresh, cool, sparkling
waters of eternal life. This