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Page Thirty THE MAROON TIGER •>- i j * i i j ! i i i \ ! I ! i i t i \ \ i i i \ i j i “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.