Passing away
Dublin Core
Title
Passing away
Description
Commencement address;
Creator
J. R. Willson
Source
http://addison.vt.edu/record=b1775388~S1
Publisher
Blacksburg News Print
Date
March 1884
Rights
Permission to publish images from The Gray Jacket must be obtained from Special Collections, Virginia Tech.
Format
Text
Language
English
Type
Speach
Identifier
LD5655.V8 L4, ser.2, v.1, no.2 (March 1884), p.1-4
Text Item Type Metadata
Text
LITERARY.
ORATION
Delivered by J. R. Wilson at Commencement of '83.
PASSING AWAY
Change has been fingering with restless hands upon all the ages. It began when the thunder tones of an unseen spirit cried for "light," and the clouds which had curtained the ages rolled back in splendor to reveal to mortal vision a bright, glorious, shining world. Yet while it has ceaselessly been playing its part upon the grand drama of time, man has not caught pace with its march nor heeded its approaching steps until the greatest change or life has come upon him. There is not a joy we
2 THE GRAY- JACKET.
experience that is not mingled with grief, and the happy hours of youth are changed in after years for the cares and sorrows of old age. The dearest spot on earth is home, as when hereafter we look upon the home of our childhood, faint recollections of the little running brook, where the flowers were gathered to decorate the lovely May Queen ; of the many sweet hours spent as the youthful imagination, floating upon fancy's wings, saw towering in the lofty heights castles built of air, dash athwart the mind ; and how we wonder if old home is like it used to be : but an empty voice comes echoing back that along the banks where we used to walk, no longer are the violets and lilies seen peeping from their modest beds, for all is now desolation, change, and decay.
The joys and pleasures of youth may lose their charms, those happy days may pass away, but there was never a chord touched in the human heart whose strings are not vibrating to-day. Just as the world is marching by the anth-ems sung by David, so do these vibrations come back to us bringing reminiscences of days that have forever gone. Yes, these days,too,have passed, but like foot-prints upon the sand, their traces are left behind.
Did you stop to think as you stood upon the banks of your rippling brook, that its waters were hurrying swiftly by, to pause not a moment until they had bathed the shores of some distant clime? Yes, it came gurgling from its fountain head and passed on, murmur. ing along its lonely banks, ere long to toss and wave upon the bosom of the deep and dark blue sea. All nature may to-day be sparkling through her boundless fields with shining jewels, but yon bright stars shall sometime sparkle no longer as jewels in the crown Of light. Yon bright and burning orbs may stand out in the broad expanse of heaven only, perhaps, at some distant day to shoot away and darkle in the trackless void of infinite space. Yon moon, delicate creation of Omniscient order, the rarest diamond in the shining, heavens, now cold, radiant, and dead, was once, perhaps, a world clothed with beauty and swarming with the myriad forms of planetary life. That pale-faced comet will ere long be sailing off through the peopled realms of endless space. Astronomy may explore the far off heavens, and, gazing through the unbounded regions of distant worlds, see planets and systems rolling on in silent grandeur along their endless paths ; but they will never count those missing jewels which have rolled beyond the field of vision never more to meet the gaze of mortal man.
Change has drafted its poisoning breath upon the lonesome vaults and resting places of our Southern soldiers, and ere long their storm-beaten monuments will crumble above their cherished dust and the visible memorial of the immortal record of their unsurpassed valor will pass away. It is the messenger that enters the smothering casement of death and consumes the forms of love and beauty that lie emmantled there. It sends a tidal wave of carnage over the earth and drapes the whole world in blood and mourning. It prostrates the grandest works of human ingenuity, and sends the world's great monarch headlong to the dust.
On one beautiful day the sun broke from behind the eastern hills and shot its brilliant rays upon a splendid city. Pale, pensive and despondent, the tyrant of freedom paced the walks of a great metropolis and dreamed of isles Utopian or the blackened dungeons of despair. There was a sound of revelry by night, and when the nightly princes had vanished in the western skies, tire inhabitants of this mighty city arose to meet one of the saddest sights that human eye ever beheld.' The nineteenth
VIRGINIA AGRICULTURAL AND MECHANICAL COLLEGE. 3
century had broken forth in the eastern horizon in all its pristine loveliness; and the young conqueror, 'mid furling banners and crying hosts, sounded the blast of war to bid adieu to his long adored countrymen. If we were allowed a moment's pause here, perhaps one of the dim pages of history would be left vacant; but alas! ere he reached the glittering goal of his ambition, the sad fate of France was sealed, and there stands to-day a speaking monument to memorialize the wail of mortals who lie entomed beneath the snows of Poland. A few words are sufficient to tell that a mighty nation perished and Napoleon died an iron-bound prisoner on St. Helena's "rock-ribbed," lone and desolate island, and the whole of christendom witnessed the beautiful city of Paris sink into the arms of ruin.
History itself is but a narration of battles and destruction. Its pages are blackened with desolation that has swept o'er sunny climes. The downfall of cities, nations and empires, the crumbling pillars of decaying republics, the broken fragments of great monarchies, all attest to the iron hand of ruin that has sent monarchs headlong from their thrones and changed that regal seat into a silent memorial of departed royalty. Ah! the shadows of change have ever been echoing down the ages since the wheel of time performed its first mighty revolution.
No longer are the Agean shores thrilled by proud Demosthenes, for he has sounded his last tones of eloquence and his clarion notes have been lost for ages 'mid the surging billows of a stormy sea. Hushed are the war songs that thrilled the souls of three million Russian hussars. Wander amid the deserted halls of Athens and recall the voices of eloquence that so aroused Greece from her peaceful slumbers at the approach of Xerxes' teeming millions. Those voices are now hushed by the lapse of the remorseless tyrant—Time. But could they speak the language of another age, they would burst her fettered chains and touch with golden tongue the cold, hard, practical spirit of this modern world. Gaze upon that "seven-hilled city," around whose name will ever cluster the brightest halo of glory, and, if a few gone-by centuries could be recalled, we could still hear those strains of eloquence resounding in old Roman forum, or see her spangled domes and gaudy temples standing out far above her golden palaces, all shining with silver; but it, too, is a city of ruins. Her poets, orators, philosophers and sages have performed their respective parts in the great drama, and passed from the stage forever. Poland sprung forth in the wilds of Northern Europe, waved her banners defiantly for long years, but where is she to-day?
Hope for a season bade the earth farewell, And freedom shrieked as Kosciusco fell!
That noble hero, who bore her stars and stripes across the river, has fallen: Yet above his cherished form there stands a shining ornament to all the ages.
"Revolutions sweep o'er earth like troubled visions over the breast of dreaming sorrows. Empires rise, gathering strength from their hoary centuries; fiery isles spring blazing from the ocean, and then they all go back to their mysterious caverns." These are the words of the immortal Prentiss: and who will deny that they express a truth as undoubtable as poetical?
There are many sad changes in life; but the saddest ever yet witnessed is death. We ask to-day, Where are the fathers of this mighty nation? Ah! an empty voice only tells us they arc dead. The Angel of Death has beckoned them home, where no "clashing lightnings or roaring thunders" flash across the bright azure above, but the sweet music of angelic voices over floats
4 THE GRAY JACKET.
above the zephyrs of a celestial calm. The fairest flower that blossoms blooms but to decay. The three stages of life —youth, manhood and old age—each feel the cogent issues of change and time. Youth,the spring-tide of life, has its joys and pleasures, but they soon pass away. Manhood is but the stepping block from infancy to old age, and ere long, with hoary locks, tottering limbs, and stumbling feet, the grave will call in another of its victims.
The lone star that beams up in the eastern horizon sends its pale rays upon the bosom of darkness and then sinks to rest. The sun, that glorious messenger of day, turns its burning countenance toward the zenith in the high heavens,lights the world with the bright gleams of progressing day,then steadily descends until its last smiling ray of sunshine kisses the fast fading horizon of the west.
And now, my friends, while these most powerful instruments of God's decree are approaching their zenith, then retrogading, will you not pause a brief period to reflect over the sealed books of futurity. In gazing upon this crowd of smiles, my heart is filled with sadness to know their bright and happy faces shall become wrinkled and furrowed with the care and sorrows of old. age. Though there be some here tonight with hearts as pure and noble as ever beat in the human breast, faces as mild and gentle as ever smiled on mortal man, yet they shall one and all meet this terrible doom. Then, young man, young woman, while the lays of your youth still are flitting around, erect for yourselves a name which will be a shining monument for all the lapse of years; 'tis a simple word, but the world's greatest heroes have sought for it. There is an unwritten page in history for it; win it, for 'tis worth all else besides; battle courageously with the obstacles which surround you ; let your purpose be as resolute. fixed and determined as the very foundations of earth. Stand boldly, like our noble Lee and Jackson, and you will be revered by every Southern heart. Upon these principles you may build a name which will ever stand out in bold relief upon the gilded scroll of time. Fulfill your own destiny and you will revel amid fadeless scenes and joys which can never depart. Material existence may pass away, immortal souls may even change, passing from the lower to the higher heavens, but principles like these are as fixed, resolute, and determined as the very foundations of earth.
And now some proud nation is groaning in distress; the whoop of war is silenced in the echoes of the dead; the charger lies sweltering in his own blood; the demoniacal halloo reverberates over some fertile plain; the instruments of hell have done the dreadful work; the gattling guns no longer peal in repulsive thunders on Manassas' plains. The river which once run red with blood is no longer so, for we are a Union strong and great.
It is a happy thought that when we cross over the river of death, we shall meet again those lovely ones which bedecked the homes of our childhood; that "when the mists have risen above us, we shall stand face to face with those who love us," and see heavenly lands more beautiful than nature's shining gems, standing upon the banks of an endless eternity.
ORATION
Delivered by J. R. Wilson at Commencement of '83.
PASSING AWAY
Change has been fingering with restless hands upon all the ages. It began when the thunder tones of an unseen spirit cried for "light," and the clouds which had curtained the ages rolled back in splendor to reveal to mortal vision a bright, glorious, shining world. Yet while it has ceaselessly been playing its part upon the grand drama of time, man has not caught pace with its march nor heeded its approaching steps until the greatest change or life has come upon him. There is not a joy we
2 THE GRAY- JACKET.
experience that is not mingled with grief, and the happy hours of youth are changed in after years for the cares and sorrows of old age. The dearest spot on earth is home, as when hereafter we look upon the home of our childhood, faint recollections of the little running brook, where the flowers were gathered to decorate the lovely May Queen ; of the many sweet hours spent as the youthful imagination, floating upon fancy's wings, saw towering in the lofty heights castles built of air, dash athwart the mind ; and how we wonder if old home is like it used to be : but an empty voice comes echoing back that along the banks where we used to walk, no longer are the violets and lilies seen peeping from their modest beds, for all is now desolation, change, and decay.
The joys and pleasures of youth may lose their charms, those happy days may pass away, but there was never a chord touched in the human heart whose strings are not vibrating to-day. Just as the world is marching by the anth-ems sung by David, so do these vibrations come back to us bringing reminiscences of days that have forever gone. Yes, these days,too,have passed, but like foot-prints upon the sand, their traces are left behind.
Did you stop to think as you stood upon the banks of your rippling brook, that its waters were hurrying swiftly by, to pause not a moment until they had bathed the shores of some distant clime? Yes, it came gurgling from its fountain head and passed on, murmur. ing along its lonely banks, ere long to toss and wave upon the bosom of the deep and dark blue sea. All nature may to-day be sparkling through her boundless fields with shining jewels, but yon bright stars shall sometime sparkle no longer as jewels in the crown Of light. Yon bright and burning orbs may stand out in the broad expanse of heaven only, perhaps, at some distant day to shoot away and darkle in the trackless void of infinite space. Yon moon, delicate creation of Omniscient order, the rarest diamond in the shining, heavens, now cold, radiant, and dead, was once, perhaps, a world clothed with beauty and swarming with the myriad forms of planetary life. That pale-faced comet will ere long be sailing off through the peopled realms of endless space. Astronomy may explore the far off heavens, and, gazing through the unbounded regions of distant worlds, see planets and systems rolling on in silent grandeur along their endless paths ; but they will never count those missing jewels which have rolled beyond the field of vision never more to meet the gaze of mortal man.
Change has drafted its poisoning breath upon the lonesome vaults and resting places of our Southern soldiers, and ere long their storm-beaten monuments will crumble above their cherished dust and the visible memorial of the immortal record of their unsurpassed valor will pass away. It is the messenger that enters the smothering casement of death and consumes the forms of love and beauty that lie emmantled there. It sends a tidal wave of carnage over the earth and drapes the whole world in blood and mourning. It prostrates the grandest works of human ingenuity, and sends the world's great monarch headlong to the dust.
On one beautiful day the sun broke from behind the eastern hills and shot its brilliant rays upon a splendid city. Pale, pensive and despondent, the tyrant of freedom paced the walks of a great metropolis and dreamed of isles Utopian or the blackened dungeons of despair. There was a sound of revelry by night, and when the nightly princes had vanished in the western skies, tire inhabitants of this mighty city arose to meet one of the saddest sights that human eye ever beheld.' The nineteenth
VIRGINIA AGRICULTURAL AND MECHANICAL COLLEGE. 3
century had broken forth in the eastern horizon in all its pristine loveliness; and the young conqueror, 'mid furling banners and crying hosts, sounded the blast of war to bid adieu to his long adored countrymen. If we were allowed a moment's pause here, perhaps one of the dim pages of history would be left vacant; but alas! ere he reached the glittering goal of his ambition, the sad fate of France was sealed, and there stands to-day a speaking monument to memorialize the wail of mortals who lie entomed beneath the snows of Poland. A few words are sufficient to tell that a mighty nation perished and Napoleon died an iron-bound prisoner on St. Helena's "rock-ribbed," lone and desolate island, and the whole of christendom witnessed the beautiful city of Paris sink into the arms of ruin.
History itself is but a narration of battles and destruction. Its pages are blackened with desolation that has swept o'er sunny climes. The downfall of cities, nations and empires, the crumbling pillars of decaying republics, the broken fragments of great monarchies, all attest to the iron hand of ruin that has sent monarchs headlong from their thrones and changed that regal seat into a silent memorial of departed royalty. Ah! the shadows of change have ever been echoing down the ages since the wheel of time performed its first mighty revolution.
No longer are the Agean shores thrilled by proud Demosthenes, for he has sounded his last tones of eloquence and his clarion notes have been lost for ages 'mid the surging billows of a stormy sea. Hushed are the war songs that thrilled the souls of three million Russian hussars. Wander amid the deserted halls of Athens and recall the voices of eloquence that so aroused Greece from her peaceful slumbers at the approach of Xerxes' teeming millions. Those voices are now hushed by the lapse of the remorseless tyrant—Time. But could they speak the language of another age, they would burst her fettered chains and touch with golden tongue the cold, hard, practical spirit of this modern world. Gaze upon that "seven-hilled city," around whose name will ever cluster the brightest halo of glory, and, if a few gone-by centuries could be recalled, we could still hear those strains of eloquence resounding in old Roman forum, or see her spangled domes and gaudy temples standing out far above her golden palaces, all shining with silver; but it, too, is a city of ruins. Her poets, orators, philosophers and sages have performed their respective parts in the great drama, and passed from the stage forever. Poland sprung forth in the wilds of Northern Europe, waved her banners defiantly for long years, but where is she to-day?
Hope for a season bade the earth farewell, And freedom shrieked as Kosciusco fell!
That noble hero, who bore her stars and stripes across the river, has fallen: Yet above his cherished form there stands a shining ornament to all the ages.
"Revolutions sweep o'er earth like troubled visions over the breast of dreaming sorrows. Empires rise, gathering strength from their hoary centuries; fiery isles spring blazing from the ocean, and then they all go back to their mysterious caverns." These are the words of the immortal Prentiss: and who will deny that they express a truth as undoubtable as poetical?
There are many sad changes in life; but the saddest ever yet witnessed is death. We ask to-day, Where are the fathers of this mighty nation? Ah! an empty voice only tells us they arc dead. The Angel of Death has beckoned them home, where no "clashing lightnings or roaring thunders" flash across the bright azure above, but the sweet music of angelic voices over floats
4 THE GRAY JACKET.
above the zephyrs of a celestial calm. The fairest flower that blossoms blooms but to decay. The three stages of life —youth, manhood and old age—each feel the cogent issues of change and time. Youth,the spring-tide of life, has its joys and pleasures, but they soon pass away. Manhood is but the stepping block from infancy to old age, and ere long, with hoary locks, tottering limbs, and stumbling feet, the grave will call in another of its victims.
The lone star that beams up in the eastern horizon sends its pale rays upon the bosom of darkness and then sinks to rest. The sun, that glorious messenger of day, turns its burning countenance toward the zenith in the high heavens,lights the world with the bright gleams of progressing day,then steadily descends until its last smiling ray of sunshine kisses the fast fading horizon of the west.
And now, my friends, while these most powerful instruments of God's decree are approaching their zenith, then retrogading, will you not pause a brief period to reflect over the sealed books of futurity. In gazing upon this crowd of smiles, my heart is filled with sadness to know their bright and happy faces shall become wrinkled and furrowed with the care and sorrows of old. age. Though there be some here tonight with hearts as pure and noble as ever beat in the human breast, faces as mild and gentle as ever smiled on mortal man, yet they shall one and all meet this terrible doom. Then, young man, young woman, while the lays of your youth still are flitting around, erect for yourselves a name which will be a shining monument for all the lapse of years; 'tis a simple word, but the world's greatest heroes have sought for it. There is an unwritten page in history for it; win it, for 'tis worth all else besides; battle courageously with the obstacles which surround you ; let your purpose be as resolute. fixed and determined as the very foundations of earth. Stand boldly, like our noble Lee and Jackson, and you will be revered by every Southern heart. Upon these principles you may build a name which will ever stand out in bold relief upon the gilded scroll of time. Fulfill your own destiny and you will revel amid fadeless scenes and joys which can never depart. Material existence may pass away, immortal souls may even change, passing from the lower to the higher heavens, but principles like these are as fixed, resolute, and determined as the very foundations of earth.
And now some proud nation is groaning in distress; the whoop of war is silenced in the echoes of the dead; the charger lies sweltering in his own blood; the demoniacal halloo reverberates over some fertile plain; the instruments of hell have done the dreadful work; the gattling guns no longer peal in repulsive thunders on Manassas' plains. The river which once run red with blood is no longer so, for we are a Union strong and great.
It is a happy thought that when we cross over the river of death, we shall meet again those lovely ones which bedecked the homes of our childhood; that "when the mists have risen above us, we shall stand face to face with those who love us," and see heavenly lands more beautiful than nature's shining gems, standing upon the banks of an endless eternity.