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Page Thirty
THE MAROON TIGER
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“BELOVED”
“Rise, my soul and stretch thy wings.
Thy Better Portion trace;
Rise from transitory things,
Toward heaven, thy native.”
At twilight within the rocky caverns of
yon ominous mount resounds a voice
prophetic, proclaiming tidings of the
things that were, the things that are, and
the things that are to be. To know the
past, is man; to know the present, is man;
but to divine the future, is God. The voice
of the past and present we hear and un
derstand. We hear likewise the voice of
the future, but its music, falling upon
ears unused to celestial strains, passes on
unheeded and unknown.
He who was among us is departed.
Whether that pious soul has wended its
way to mansions of peace, or delays upon
the interlacing margin of the eternal riv
er to come again in after centuries to
animate some other breast, we do not know.
Whether that gracious spirit has gone io
recline upon the couches of eternal rest,
or to give incentive to a more glorious
labor, we do not know. Perhaps it is best
that each and all should come to the end
of this existence that one calls life. Per
haps he who fashioned these frail crafts
of only three score year’s dura'ion had
in mind a loftier purpose, a greater
scheme of things. Was it that the soul
of man might taste of the essence of life
and thus be better prepared to en'er fuT-
fledged into a fuller and more abundant
life—a life everlasting? Our friend and
brother has gone to feast upon the joys
of the unknown. Not alone do fai hful
wife and four loving brothers lift the
phrenial chorous; hosts of friends from
the bloom of youth to wrinkled brows
stretch forth their arms in vain embrace
—mourning round the sepulchre of the
denarted.
Throughout life. Dr. Reddick was a pa
tient s 4 river and tire’ess worker. Beset on
all sides by innumerable obstacles he
worked his way through Morehouse Col
lege, being one of the first college gradu
ates in a class of three. Leaving college
in 1897 he launched out immediately upon
a mission of service, founding Americus
Institute, of Americus, Ga. But this was
by no means the end of his services. He
hearken to the whisperings of the still
small voice,—“Come, and I will make you
a fisher of men.”
.. Fame and greatness are often confused
and confusing. In most cases the former
is mistaken for the latter. Fame rides up
on the four winds and is as changeable;
greatness is a quah of godliness, and,
though the mountains tremble, remains
steadfast and unmovable. The fame of
some overshadows their greatness, but
fortunate is he who unencumbered with
deluding fame shines through the glory
of his greatness alone. He who has left
us established himself in the hearts of all
by his two-fold service to humanity—
directing the mind of thoughtless youth,
and leading lost souls into a revelation of
the devine truth. Upon the fiery altar he
laid dowm a life pregnant with deeds of
godliness—true greatness; and while his
life’s pendulum swung between the two
eternities there came into his being no
haughtiness of spirit, no fame
His was a tragic and untimely end.
Sometimes we are led on and on by the
stately measure of a sublime production
till the heart thrills with ecstasy. Then, at
the very moment that our cup of joy hesi
tates between brimful and overflow, some
mystic power suddenly arrests the author’s
motion, and he writes no more. We sigh
with a hope of somehow evoking the writ
er from the shades, but the once moving
finger is forever still. Thus ended he. Who
knows but that as he steered his motor
for the last time through that frosty
midst he revolved in his mind some high
er Tru'h, some keener insight into the di
vine order—some vision of the THINGS
THAT ARE TO BE! He left no offspring
in the flesh to perpetuate his memory; but
in spirit he was father of thousands.
But alas!—nor all man’s piety nor wit
can trace the better portion of the soul.
To what shall we look for a solution of
this mystery? Will the stars give us an
swer and comfor 4 ? Bright stars we wait
on thee—Our friend and advisor left us at
that season of the year in which the joys
of yuletide make happy the fire-sides of
a thousand homes. ’Twas that season of
the year in which man enters more nearly
into the spirit of his Creator—“It is more
blessed to give than to receive.”-—What,
no answer? Then shine on bright stars
till one other recently attired in thy ra
diant garb shall join thy celestial choir,
and with thee lift up a voice and sing
till the mystic caverns of yon ominous
mount shall reound with “GLORY TO
GOD.”—Francis Moses, ’28.