In Memoriam 1561 



for years to come, bear, silent Init aLundaut testimony to siicli work 

 of his. 



He had gathered his harvest into his barn. AVith his own 

 hands, on Friday, the 19th, he sowed a field to alfalfa and had his 

 farm work in a condition to leave on the Tnesdav followine; to 

 give service and advice to farmers along the line of the Northern- 

 Central Railroad. Tims, with his home work well in hand he 

 was prepared to assnme the In'oader duties of the morrow. AVho 

 shall say he did not — although on Monday, July 21st, ''toward 

 evening, as the day was far spent," the summons came and the 

 brave heart stopped beating. But the real man, made in the image 

 of his' Maker, entered into the al)undant life that the Master came 

 to bestow. 



On the Thursday following there gathered at his home — with 

 his wife so sorely bereaved and the company of neighbors and 

 friends who knew and loved him well — of his associates in the 

 agricultural work, the writer ; J). P. Witter, of Berkshire ; A. J. 

 Nicoll, of Delhi ; John H. Barron, of jSFunda ; J. G. Curtis, of 

 Rochester; John A. Ennis, of Pattersonville, and Roy P. Mc- 

 Pherson, of Le Roy ; to pay the last deserved respect to our fellow- 

 worker. Bright was the sunshine as we laid his body in the beauti- 

 ful village cemetery just beyond his home, and, though sad our 

 hearts, there was a brightness there also, for what better earthly 

 end could we wish for our brother than that in the place of his 

 birth, with his good wife not distant, surrounded by the accu- 

 mulative works of his hands for nearly fifty years, with his eye 

 not dimmed and apparently his natural strength not abated, his 

 day's work well done, his house in order, ready for new duties, 

 than to be called higher! 



The words of holy writ come to me with a new meaning. " If 

 a man die, shall he live again? Yea, saith the Spirit, they rest 

 from their labors and their works do follow them." 



"There is no death. What seems so is transition. 



This life of mortal hreath 

 Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, 



Whose portal we call death." 



Edward van Alstyne 



