The Webster Signal
Minden, La
Apr. 15, 1910
Card of Thanks
In behalf on my brother and family, I wish to express great appreciation of the generous output of kindness and feeling on the part of all our friends during our recent bereavement. The support of such friendly sympathy is one of the greatest comforts in the hours of trouble.
Most sincerely
S.G. Webb
__________
Robert Webb, son of Mr. and Mrs. J.Y. Webb, of Dallas, Tex., died at Austin, Texas, last week where the young man was attending school, and the remains were brought to Minden last Sunday for burial. A more suitable tribute to the memory of this young man has been prepared and will appear in next week's issue of the Signal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apr. 22, 1910
Robert Bridger Webb.
In contrast with other hard problems, the problems of the death of the gifted young seems life's blackest mystery. Their early death seems a waste, unreasonable and cruel to a monstrous degree. For the aged death is a friend. The old merchant, worn out by toil the scholar, enfeebled by his labors, burning to the socket, and going out like a candle from a puff of wind at the easement; the patriot and the philanthropist, worn to a shadow, these all stand expectant, eagerly looking for the tokens of release. Those who have gone through all the thunder of life's battle, and assembled all the treasures of youth and age, desire new scenes and long for another quest. Death to them is as natural as the falling leaf, the ripening of the fruit, the setting of the sun.
But what shall we say of the beautiful boy whom we knew as Robert Bridger Webb? Born in Minden, nearly twenty two years ago, and died in Austin, Texas April 9, 1910. Verily the young voyager set sail, only to strike a hidden rock while still in sight of the harbor. The Angel of Life held out the beaker, overflowing with life wine, only to snatch the chalice away, before the lips had touched the precious liquor. The young scholar had turned his feet toward the library of universal wisdom, and found the door closed in his face, when he scarcely had touched the threshold. Surely this is a mystery woven of the warp and woof of night and death. No words can compass the heart-break incident to the loss of one so gifted and one so young. It is an experience that lifts the heart with red hot pinchers, and lets it drop its rich black book of agony.
And yet the manner and circumstances of this boy's death is an interpretation of the mystery. Calling together his friends and his loved ones to tell them goodbye after the manner of the patriarchs, testifying of his unshaken faith and his sublime hope in God; proclaiming his adherence to the great fundamental things of character and Christianity holding his mothers hand while he sang in a sweet tenor voice, his death song of the Spirit's coming, while the nurses came from their tasks in the great hospital to listen to his song; and at last sinking to sleep only to awaken in the presence of the King. The force of the ship is in the trade wings that carry it on, and the joy of the sailor is harbor toward which he moves. Not otherwise, the dignity and majesty of life are in the divine motives that sweep the soul upward, and in the sublime destiny toward which the soul moves. Out of the deep of God's mind and purpose, the boy came; into the deep of God's heart and will he has gone; therefore all is well for the beautiful youth who had sought the land beyond the sea.
With the utmost grief his parents brought him back to the place of his birth for burial. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, he was laid to rest to await the resurrection. Today, many are careless youths who think little enough of conscience and character and Christ. If the name of the best of them could be put over against the massive character of this youth, it would seem as a mud hut over against a marble palace.
E.K. MEANS.
Minden, La
Apr. 15, 1910
Card of Thanks
In behalf on my brother and family, I wish to express great appreciation of the generous output of kindness and feeling on the part of all our friends during our recent bereavement. The support of such friendly sympathy is one of the greatest comforts in the hours of trouble.
Most sincerely
S.G. Webb
__________
Robert Webb, son of Mr. and Mrs. J.Y. Webb, of Dallas, Tex., died at Austin, Texas, last week where the young man was attending school, and the remains were brought to Minden last Sunday for burial. A more suitable tribute to the memory of this young man has been prepared and will appear in next week's issue of the Signal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apr. 22, 1910
Robert Bridger Webb.
In contrast with other hard problems, the problems of the death of the gifted young seems life's blackest mystery. Their early death seems a waste, unreasonable and cruel to a monstrous degree. For the aged death is a friend. The old merchant, worn out by toil the scholar, enfeebled by his labors, burning to the socket, and going out like a candle from a puff of wind at the easement; the patriot and the philanthropist, worn to a shadow, these all stand expectant, eagerly looking for the tokens of release. Those who have gone through all the thunder of life's battle, and assembled all the treasures of youth and age, desire new scenes and long for another quest. Death to them is as natural as the falling leaf, the ripening of the fruit, the setting of the sun.
But what shall we say of the beautiful boy whom we knew as Robert Bridger Webb? Born in Minden, nearly twenty two years ago, and died in Austin, Texas April 9, 1910. Verily the young voyager set sail, only to strike a hidden rock while still in sight of the harbor. The Angel of Life held out the beaker, overflowing with life wine, only to snatch the chalice away, before the lips had touched the precious liquor. The young scholar had turned his feet toward the library of universal wisdom, and found the door closed in his face, when he scarcely had touched the threshold. Surely this is a mystery woven of the warp and woof of night and death. No words can compass the heart-break incident to the loss of one so gifted and one so young. It is an experience that lifts the heart with red hot pinchers, and lets it drop its rich black book of agony.
And yet the manner and circumstances of this boy's death is an interpretation of the mystery. Calling together his friends and his loved ones to tell them goodbye after the manner of the patriarchs, testifying of his unshaken faith and his sublime hope in God; proclaiming his adherence to the great fundamental things of character and Christianity holding his mothers hand while he sang in a sweet tenor voice, his death song of the Spirit's coming, while the nurses came from their tasks in the great hospital to listen to his song; and at last sinking to sleep only to awaken in the presence of the King. The force of the ship is in the trade wings that carry it on, and the joy of the sailor is harbor toward which he moves. Not otherwise, the dignity and majesty of life are in the divine motives that sweep the soul upward, and in the sublime destiny toward which the soul moves. Out of the deep of God's mind and purpose, the boy came; into the deep of God's heart and will he has gone; therefore all is well for the beautiful youth who had sought the land beyond the sea.
With the utmost grief his parents brought him back to the place of his birth for burial. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, he was laid to rest to await the resurrection. Today, many are careless youths who think little enough of conscience and character and Christ. If the name of the best of them could be put over against the massive character of this youth, it would seem as a mud hut over against a marble palace.
E.K. MEANS.
The Webster Signal
Minden, La
Apr. 15, 1910
Card of Thanks
In behalf on my brother and family, I wish to express great appreciation of the generous output of kindness and feeling on the part of all our friends during our recent bereavement. The support of such friendly sympathy is one of the greatest comforts in the hours of trouble.
Most sincerely
S.G. Webb
__________
Robert Webb, son of Mr. and Mrs. J.Y. Webb, of Dallas, Tex., died at Austin, Texas, last week where the young man was attending school, and the remains were brought to Minden last Sunday for burial. A more suitable tribute to the memory of this young man has been prepared and will appear in next week's issue of the Signal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apr. 22, 1910
Robert Bridger Webb.
In contrast with other hard problems, the problems of the death of the gifted young seems life's blackest mystery. Their early death seems a waste, unreasonable and cruel to a monstrous degree. For the aged death is a friend. The old merchant, worn out by toil the scholar, enfeebled by his labors, burning to the socket, and going out like a candle from a puff of wind at the easement; the patriot and the philanthropist, worn to a shadow, these all stand expectant, eagerly looking for the tokens of release. Those who have gone through all the thunder of life's battle, and assembled all the treasures of youth and age, desire new scenes and long for another quest. Death to them is as natural as the falling leaf, the ripening of the fruit, the setting of the sun.
But what shall we say of the beautiful boy whom we knew as Robert Bridger Webb? Born in Minden, nearly twenty two years ago, and died in Austin, Texas April 9, 1910. Verily the young voyager set sail, only to strike a hidden rock while still in sight of the harbor. The Angel of Life held out the beaker, overflowing with life wine, only to snatch the chalice away, before the lips had touched the precious liquor. The young scholar had turned his feet toward the library of universal wisdom, and found the door closed in his face, when he scarcely had touched the threshold. Surely this is a mystery woven of the warp and woof of night and death. No words can compass the heart-break incident to the loss of one so gifted and one so young. It is an experience that lifts the heart with red hot pinchers, and lets it drop its rich black book of agony.
And yet the manner and circumstances of this boy's death is an interpretation of the mystery. Calling together his friends and his loved ones to tell them goodbye after the manner of the patriarchs, testifying of his unshaken faith and his sublime hope in God; proclaiming his adherence to the great fundamental things of character and Christianity holding his mothers hand while he sang in a sweet tenor voice, his death song of the Spirit's coming, while the nurses came from their tasks in the great hospital to listen to his song; and at last sinking to sleep only to awaken in the presence of the King. The force of the ship is in the trade wings that carry it on, and the joy of the sailor is harbor toward which he moves. Not otherwise, the dignity and majesty of life are in the divine motives that sweep the soul upward, and in the sublime destiny toward which the soul moves. Out of the deep of God's mind and purpose, the boy came; into the deep of God's heart and will he has gone; therefore all is well for the beautiful youth who had sought the land beyond the sea.
With the utmost grief his parents brought him back to the place of his birth for burial. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, he was laid to rest to await the resurrection. Today, many are careless youths who think little enough of conscience and character and Christ. If the name of the best of them could be put over against the massive character of this youth, it would seem as a mud hut over against a marble palace.
E.K. MEANS.
Minden, La
Apr. 15, 1910
Card of Thanks
In behalf on my brother and family, I wish to express great appreciation of the generous output of kindness and feeling on the part of all our friends during our recent bereavement. The support of such friendly sympathy is one of the greatest comforts in the hours of trouble.
Most sincerely
S.G. Webb
__________
Robert Webb, son of Mr. and Mrs. J.Y. Webb, of Dallas, Tex., died at Austin, Texas, last week where the young man was attending school, and the remains were brought to Minden last Sunday for burial. A more suitable tribute to the memory of this young man has been prepared and will appear in next week's issue of the Signal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apr. 22, 1910
Robert Bridger Webb.
In contrast with other hard problems, the problems of the death of the gifted young seems life's blackest mystery. Their early death seems a waste, unreasonable and cruel to a monstrous degree. For the aged death is a friend. The old merchant, worn out by toil the scholar, enfeebled by his labors, burning to the socket, and going out like a candle from a puff of wind at the easement; the patriot and the philanthropist, worn to a shadow, these all stand expectant, eagerly looking for the tokens of release. Those who have gone through all the thunder of life's battle, and assembled all the treasures of youth and age, desire new scenes and long for another quest. Death to them is as natural as the falling leaf, the ripening of the fruit, the setting of the sun.
But what shall we say of the beautiful boy whom we knew as Robert Bridger Webb? Born in Minden, nearly twenty two years ago, and died in Austin, Texas April 9, 1910. Verily the young voyager set sail, only to strike a hidden rock while still in sight of the harbor. The Angel of Life held out the beaker, overflowing with life wine, only to snatch the chalice away, before the lips had touched the precious liquor. The young scholar had turned his feet toward the library of universal wisdom, and found the door closed in his face, when he scarcely had touched the threshold. Surely this is a mystery woven of the warp and woof of night and death. No words can compass the heart-break incident to the loss of one so gifted and one so young. It is an experience that lifts the heart with red hot pinchers, and lets it drop its rich black book of agony.
And yet the manner and circumstances of this boy's death is an interpretation of the mystery. Calling together his friends and his loved ones to tell them goodbye after the manner of the patriarchs, testifying of his unshaken faith and his sublime hope in God; proclaiming his adherence to the great fundamental things of character and Christianity holding his mothers hand while he sang in a sweet tenor voice, his death song of the Spirit's coming, while the nurses came from their tasks in the great hospital to listen to his song; and at last sinking to sleep only to awaken in the presence of the King. The force of the ship is in the trade wings that carry it on, and the joy of the sailor is harbor toward which he moves. Not otherwise, the dignity and majesty of life are in the divine motives that sweep the soul upward, and in the sublime destiny toward which the soul moves. Out of the deep of God's mind and purpose, the boy came; into the deep of God's heart and will he has gone; therefore all is well for the beautiful youth who had sought the land beyond the sea.
With the utmost grief his parents brought him back to the place of his birth for burial. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, he was laid to rest to await the resurrection. Today, many are careless youths who think little enough of conscience and character and Christ. If the name of the best of them could be put over against the massive character of this youth, it would seem as a mud hut over against a marble palace.
E.K. MEANS.
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