Wilford Woodruff, Fourth President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints / History of His Life and Labors, as Recorded in His Daily Journals

by Wilford Woodruff

CHAPTER 56.

FUNERAL SERVICES.

(From the Deseret News.)

After more than ninety-one years of incessant activity and immeasurable usefulness upon the earth, the mortal tabernacle of President Wilford Woodruff was to-day laid to rest in the silent city above the metropolis that he helped to found and to build. The final offices associated with the consignment of his remains to the plain and substantial tomb in which they were deposited were most kindly and reverently administered. Never was a great and good man more loved by his people than he, and perhaps a people never exhibited the love and respect they held for a leader to a greater extent than did the tens of thousands who attended his obsequies and witnessed the funeral cortege as it passed through the streets to the cemetery. Bared and bowed heads were everywhere in the multitude upon the streets. When words were spoken it was with subdued voices, and all that was said was said with respect and honor for the departed pioneer, builder, and statesman.

Probably not for years to come will such a spectacle as that which was presented this morning be again witnessed. Long before 8 o'clock anxious throngs had congregated in groups around the Temple square, awaiting the opening of the outer gates that seats might be obtained; for well was it anticipated that mighty hosts would throng the sacred precincts of the Tabernacle to pay by their presence the last sad token of respect to the dead leader in Israel. Therefore the scene was a remarkable one. Nothing, however, occurred to mar the solemnity of the great occasion. The hush of expectation was felt by all as they stood in the shade of the Temple block walls, and all around under the sheltering trees, and one could not but feel that, with the deep solemnity prevailing and the tremor of sunshine that some sweetly solemn thought brought to mind as the moments passed, he was standing on the verge of the valley of Death. Not, however, with any feeling of gloom, because of the great bereavement the people felt that they sustained in the demise of their beloved President, but because of the joy that emanated from their hearts and beamed from their eyes.

It was more than an hour and a half before the services in the Tabernacle began. When the doors were opened the great auditorium was almost filled. The people continued to pour in by every door; nearly every seat was taken before ten o'clock, except those reserved for the family of the deceased and the families and friends of the highest officials of the Church. These, however, were all occupied before the appointed time for the services to begin.

Outside the building, while the crowds were pressing forward, Marshal Burton and his aids, mounted on magnificent horses, were busy directing the movements of the attendant hosts. Without and within, the scene was the same, and when all who could obtain sitting or standing room in the great building were at length in position, one could not help but revert in his mind to similar occasions in the past. Perhaps no similar scene ever surpassed this of to-day even in the camps of ancient Israel, or in the gatherings that have been depicted by historic pen from the days when Greece and Rome paid tribute to their dead. There was no pageantry or panoply of strange device; no pomp of show or bombastic sorrow; nothing but united homage and love.

It was just 10 o'clock when the body of President Woodruff was borne into the confines of the square and thence carried down the north aisle of the Tabernacle to its central position on the dais before the stand. As the procession entered, fully ten thousand people with uncovered heads, rose in respect, as the casket passed along its way, and so quiet was the rising that it seemed like the gentle rustling of autumn leaves.

Thousands unable to gain admittance to the Tabernacle thronged and pressed around the entrances and walls in hope of hearing a word of sound from the hallowed precincts within, that would touch a sympathetic chord in their responsive hearts, while thousands more lingered for hours under the kindly shelter of the numerous trees that ornament the spacious grounds within the square, that they might, when opportunity arrived, join in the procession to the grave.