It is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, that there was at least one spot, the small island of Delos, dedicated to the gods, and kept at all times sacred from War. No hostile foot ever pressed this kindly soil, and citizens of all countries met here, in common worship, beneath the ægis of inviolable Peace. So let us dedicate our beloved country; and may the blessed consecration be felt in all its parts, everywhere throughout its ample domain! The Temple of Honor shall be enclosed by the Temple of Concord, that it may never more be entered through any portal of War; the horn of Abundance shall overflow at its gates; the angel of Religion shall be the guide over its steps of flashing adamant; while within its happy courts, purged of Violence and Wrong, Justice, returned to the earth from long exile in the skies, with equal scales for nations as for men, shall rear her serene and majestic front; and by her side, greatest of all, Charity, sublime in meekness, hoping all and enduring all, shall divinely temper every righteous decree, and with words of infinite cheer inspire to those deeds that cannot vanish away. And the future chief of the Republic, destined to uphold the glories of a new era, unspotted by human blood, shall be first in Peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen.
While seeking these fruitful glories for ourselves, let us strive for their extension to other lands. Let the bugles sound the Truce of God to the whole world forever. Not to one people, but to every people, let the glad tidings go. The selfish boast of the Spartan women, that they never saw the smoke of an enemy's camp, must become the universal chorus of mankind, while the iron belt of War, now encompassing the globe, is exchanged for the golden cestus of Peace, clothing all with celestial beauty. History dwells with fondness on the reverent homage bestowed by massacring soldiers upon the spot occupied by the sepulchre of the Lord. Vain man! why confine regard to a few feet of sacred mould? The whole earth is the sepulchre of the Lord; nor can any righteous man profane any part thereof. Confessing this truth, let us now, on this Sabbath of the Nation, lay a new and living stone in the grand Temple of Universal Peace, whose dome shall be lofty as the firmament of heaven, broad and comprehensive as earth itself.
[TRIBUTE OF FRIENDSHIP:]
THE LATE JOSEPH STORY.
Article from the Boston Daily Advertiser, September 16, 1845.
I have just returned from the funeral of this great and good man. Under that roof where I have so often seen him in health, buoyant with life, exuberant in kindness, happy in family and friends, I stood by his mortal remains sunk in eternal rest, and gazed upon those well-loved features from which even the icy touch of death had not effaced all the living beauty. The eye was quenched, and the glow of life extinguished; but the noble brow seemed still to shelter, as under a marble dome, the spirit that had fled. And is he dead, I asked myself,—whose face was never turned to me, except in affection,—who has filled the civilized world with his name, and drawn to his country the homage of foreign nations,—who was of activity and labor that knew no rest,—who was connected with so many circles by duties of such various kinds, by official ties, by sympathy, by friendship and love,—who, according to the beautiful expression of Wilberforce, "touched life at so many points,"—has he, indeed, passed away? Upon the small plate on the coffin was inscribed, Joseph Story, died September 10th, 1845, aged 66 years. These few words might apply to the lowly citizen, as to the illustrious Judge. Thus is the coffin-plate a register of the equality of men.
At his well-known house we joined in religious worship. The Rev. Dr. Walker, present head of the University, in earnest prayer, commended his soul to God who gave it, and invoked upon family and friends a consecration of their afflictive bereavement. From this service we followed, in mournful procession, to the resting-place which he had selected for himself and his family, amidst the beautiful groves of Mount Auburn. As the procession filed into the cemetery I was moved by the sight of the numerous pupils of the Law School, with uncovered heads and countenances of sorrow, ranged on each side of the road within the gate, testifying by silent and unexpected homage their last reverence to their departed teacher. Around the grave, as he was laid in the embrace of the mother earth, were gathered all in our community most distinguished in law, learning, literature, station,—Judges of our Courts, Professors of the University, surviving classmates, and a thick cluster of friends. He was placed among the children taken from him in early life. Of such is the kingdom of heaven were the words he had inscribed over their names on the simple marble which now commemorates alike the children and their father. Nor is there a child in heaven of more childlike innocence and purity than he, who, full of years and honors, has gone to mingle with these children.