Mr. Powell was a man of enthusiasm; he worked at white heat. The logic of his whole life seemed to be, "What I do I must do quickly." He could not stop; he must hurry on. He could pass easily from one thing to another. In all the years of my acquaintance with him I never knew him to rest as other people rest. If his body was not active his mind was. The river of his life had no sluggish intervals; it was a torrent from first to last. His step was a bound; his thought rushed in its movement. He could write a sermon in less time than any other man in the seminary, so far as I know. Plans came to him like an inspiration and were unfolded with a rapidity that seemed to me wonderful. His scholarship was not technical. He always enjoyed the larger sweep of things. He would have been the last man to devote his life to the Greek preterite, and to question whether it would not have been better to have confined himself to the dative case! Such minutiae of erudition might be fascinating to others; it was not for him. His large-heartedness, his sympathy, his wealthy and generous spirit could not be condensed into a bookworm, or a recluse. They rather equipped him to become a watchman, that he might declare what he saw. He needed the whole Republic to range up and down in. His ringing words might be heard on our Western frontier; but before their echoes had scarcely died away, their wakening notes might be taken up and reiterated on our New England coast. He was a voice crying in the land. Like the Great Master, he was sent to "heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, to set at liberty them that are bruised." It was the down-trodden races for which he lived. Such a candle of the Lord would burn down to its socket before the day was half spent. Such hot haste and burning zeal must consume to ashes before the meridian is turned.
Oftentimes have I thought of our brother in connection with a remark once made by Rufus Choate. Mr. Choate was an over-worked man, and in his later years, the tension under which he was laboring was quite apparent. He was met by a friend on the street one morning who reminded him of his careworn appearance. Said his friend, "Your labors are too unremitting, and what is worse, you are endangering your constitution." "Ah!" said Mr. Choate, "my constitution was gone long ago; I am living on the by-laws now." In the last years of his life, it seemed to me that our brother was living on the by-laws of his constitution.
He was aware that but a brittle thread kept his earthly moorings; but this did not deter him; he must work while the day lasted; for the night cometh when no man can work. While the vital spark remained, he would not, indeed we may say, he could not stay his hand. And so in the midst of his years God took him.
What a privilege to have walked with him in the fellowship of love, and to have enjoyed the richness and fullness of his friendship! What springs of tenderness in his nature ready to gush forth to refresh and quicken the tendrils of a drooping heart. How the sorrows of others found echo and response in his own soul. The grim messenger death once entered my own home, and made all a desert and a desolation. I never can forget the letter that I received from our brother at that time. What melting tenderness and sympathy were expressed in it! He was smitten and afflicted; he was wounded and bruised for my sake. It was as if he was the stricken one and not myself. But I could not account, however, at the moment, for the blotted and blurred appearance of the writing. But it was all explained in a postscript. "Please excuse the writing. I could not keep the tears back; they fell so thick and fast as nearly to destroy the legibility of my letter." How can we help loving such a man? He took up the sorrows of others and made them his own; aye more, he took up the woes of a race and made them his own. When did the colored man have a better and more faithful friend than he? Who was more completely and absolutely identified with his interests than he? Burn down the colored man's school house through the malign influence of caste feeling, and you had kindled in his soul the fires of an indignation which quite eclipsed the original conflagration.
I have been permitted to observe the advancement and development of his faith. As the years carried him forward in his course, that faith assumed stronger as well as more graceful and beautiful outlines. He was not one who never had doubts or questionings. The difficulties of belief as well as unbelief, were not unknown to him. But when he took up the mighty task to which he consecrated his life, and was left to grapple with illiteracy, superstition and the needs of a benighted and down-trodden people, knotty questions in theology no longer vexed him, for he recognized that there was but one all-sufficient solvent for the dark problems which thrust themselves into the foreground, and that was the redemptive power of the Gospel of Christ. Men may be puzzled and perplexed concerning the theory of sunshine, but there are no questionings on the subject that can override the practical effect of the sun. The sun shines in spite of our metaphysics! Our brother advanced into the practical aspects of faith, and had the assurance that Christ was the light of the world, in spite of our theories of inspiration.
He had an unbounded faith in applied Christianity. There was nothing it could not do in the way of recasting and uplifting the despised peoples of the land. We had but to go forward in the name and power of our great Leader to effect the national redemption. But I must not detain you longer. He has gone out from us. His mission is ended here. Those eloquent lips must remain forever sealed on earth. He simply ceases to be seen of us. We follow his path of translation with mingled tears and joy. The future life, whose place is beyond the skies, was a matter of great concern to him. I recall the hour when he returned to his room from a lecture on the immortality of the soul. He was almost overcome by the discussion which was being carried on in the class-room. He wanted the subject taken out of the realm of probability, and brought to the test of certainty and demonstration. "O, chum!" he exclaimed, "I wish I might die now; I can hardly wait for the demonstration!" He did not wait long. The bending heavens caught up his spirit, and he has gone into the holy city through the beautiful gate which opens over all graves.
"Thus saints, that seem to die in earth's rude strife, only win double life; they have but left our weary ways to live in memory here, in Heaven by love and praise."
EULOGY BY DR. STRIEBY.
After what has been so eloquently and fittingly said I have very great reluctance to appear before you to speak of Brother Powell. I have on several occasions spoken of him, and it is only because I am unwilling that the office and the office workers should not in some way be recognized that I consent to say a few words to-day.
What I have to say relates not so much to his public life as to our office relations with him. It has been my sad duty to go to the graves or speak at these meetings in reference to the death of all the officers associated with me when I came into this work; Lewis Tappan, George Whipple, S.S. Jocelyn, G.D. Pike—all of these I have followed to the grave. There is this one difference between Brother Powell's death and that of the others in our memory—all the others had a long, wasting sickness; we remember the darkened room, the pale face, the parched lips, the night vigils. But we have no such thought in regard to Brother Powell's death. The morning after the holiday of Christmas I came to the office not to hear the statement that Brother Powell was very sick, but the astounding announcement "Brother Powell is dead." This was indeed terrible; but the memory of Brother Powell has not been darkened with the thought of sickness, but remains with us just as he was in health and vigor. We still think of the quick step with which he came into the office, the hearty cheer with which he greeted us, the pleasant face that shone not only at the door, but through the whole day. He was a busy worker, as has been said, but ever and always the same bright face, the same cheerful heart, the same warm love, the same readiness to help bear everybody's load, went through the long day. If you have ever spent a day in the mountains, with its breezy temperature, and yet with the sun filling the whole blue heavens and shining on all things—water, mountain, valley, tree and grass—if that day has left its memory of brightness and sweetness in your heart, such is the memory left on us in the office by Brother Powell.