On a clear day, the blue Pacific,
stretching away beyond the snowy surf-line, symbolizes the shoreless sea
that rolls through eternity. The Cliff House road that runs hard by is
the chief drive of the pleasure-seekers of San Francisco. Gayety, and
laughter, and heart-break, and tears, meet on the drive; the wail of
agony and the laugh of gladness mingle as the gay crowds dash by the
slow-moving procession on its way to the grave. How often have I made
that slow, sad journey to Lone Mountain--a Via Doloroso to many who
have never been the same after they had gone thither, and coming back
found the light quenched and the music bushed in their homes! Thither
the dead Senator was borne, followed by the tramping thousands, rank on
rank, amid the booming of minute-guns, the tolling of bells, the
measured tread of plumed soldiers, and the roll of drums. Thither was
carried, in his rude coffin, the "unknown man" found dead in the
streets, to be buried in potter's-field. Thither was borne the hard and
grasping idolater of riches, who clung to his coin, and clutched for
more, until he was dragged away by the one hand that was colder and
stronger than his own. Here was brought the little child, out of whose
narrow grave there blossomed the beginnings of a new life to the father
and mother, who in the better life to come will be found among the
blessed company of those whose only path to paradise lay through the
valley of tears.
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