If we have gotten any good from the life which he
lived before us, we can show it by the growing warmth and
completeness of our own enlistment in the same cause. Cries Mrs.
Browning at Cowper's grave:

O Poets, from a maniac's tongue was poured the deathless singing;
O Christians, at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was clinging;
O men, this man in brotherhood your weary paths beguiling
Groaned inly while he taught you peace and died while ye were
smiling.

But not in _that_ way was Powell the teacher of hope and of peace and
of joy to us. He showed the way of the cross and all the morning
light of hope, because he himself had found it! And how lustrous and
mighty and winning did his own way of life serve to make all this way
appear to be.

O face, all radiant with light of love;
O eyes, so laughing in their tenderness.
So quick to read the language of distress;
O lips, so touched with flame as from above--

We have seen that sweet vision, and all the way before us shall be
the clearer, and we the stronger, because of it. And the sweet memory
of our brother shall remain to us.

Like some clear large star, which pilgrims,
At their back leave, and see not always;
Yet wheresoever they list, may turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still!

For himself, he has ascended to the mountains of myrrh and the hill
of frankincense, and has seen the day break and the shadows flee
away. But, brothers, let us cherish no such idle notion as though
James Powell had now forgotten, or has ceased to be interested in the
Chinaman, the Indian and the Negro, in America.

EULOGY BY REV. DR. IDE.

If there is any special fitness in inviting me to speak on this
occasion, it lies in the fact that Dr. Powell was an intimate friend
of mine. Outside of the circle of my own home, there was no one with
whom I ever held such close and familiar relationship as with him.
Our acquaintance began in the early days of college life, when our
nation was in the throes of a civil war. We were not members of the
same class, but were brought together quite frequently through the
literary society to which we both belonged. During this period our
relations were simply cordial. Unconsciously the advice of that witty
old divine, Thomas Fuller, was being followed: "Let friendship creep
gently to a height; if it rush to it, it may soon run itself out of
breath."

Dr. Powell graduated from Da