And again he said: “Let there be a railroad!” And he diverted the course of a great railroad system miles out of its way, and there was a railroad.
And he said: “There must be no saloon in this place!” So more than half a century before strong drink was acknowledged to be a social and physical foe, he had seen its true nature and put prohibition into every deed of real estate, thus making it impossible for liquor to gain a foothold.
Years passed and he said: “Let there be a college!” and he brought one across the state, and there was a college; a young, infant thing just started by Christian missionaries who had come from the East, each of them to plant a church, all of them to plant a college.
This infant educational institution was put into its rude cradle in the midst of an unshaded campus, and when it had grown to generous size, with buildings to house it and trees to shade it, a cyclone swept the campus bare, and instead of a joyous Commencement, which was but a few days distant, there were funerals and desolation, wreck and ruin.
On a pile of débris sat the same pioneer with a determined smile playing upon his face, and at once, while the tears upon the mourners’ cheeks were still wet, he and others like him began rebuilding the town and the college.
Those men now “rest from their labor” in that bit of rolling prairie saved from the plowmen and the harvester, and consecrated to hold our dead until the great day.
The morning after our arrival in Grinnell, the Herr Director and the Frau Directorin, who, during our travels, had little opportunity to indulge their fondness for exercise, walked out to the cemetery. It is a beautiful, well-kept spot, but half spoiled by crowding headstones. From it can be seen church steeples peeping through the elm trees which shelter the town; the ugly stand-pipe and the tall chimney of our one big factory. At our feet lay the little artificial lake where much fishing is done, and sometimes fish are caught. As far as we could see were prosperous farms with their comfortable homes, generous barns, turreted silos, and wide meadows where calves and colts grazed.
One of our virtues, the Herr Director thought, was that we do not boast about our dead. Whatever boasting we do, and we do not boast too much, it ceases when the earth covers us. He saw no fulsome eulogies carved upon the headstones; often nothing but a name and the two dates of birth and death.
In the face of that great and last achievement we are very humble and honest; although in our little cemetery lie buried men and women of whom I should like to boast. They were the great, real Americans who worked diligently, honestly and humbly, who left no huge fortunes to curse the next generation; but built their modest homes, and before the roof tree was lifted, had built a church and a schoolhouse. They put their tithes into the Lord’s treasury before they put money into a bank, and while they were still wading through mud, anchored the college upon a rock, making its growth and permanence their great extravagance.
They believed in an austere Christ, but believed in Him implicitly, followed Him consistently and left a legacy of simplicity, temperance and frugality.