An Inspiration

An Inspiration To the Memory of John A. Bates BY DR. J. LLOYD WOODRUFF "Why fear death? It is life's most beautiful adventure."— Froh- man, who went down with the "Lusitania." The infinite is round us, and we swung Midway between eternity, that space of countless years, While yet the spirit in the Master's presence grew, Amid the Eden of its primal birth and infant days, And that unending round, those aeons immortal, when The soul, no longer bound in clanking chains of Time, Shall stand once more before that selfsame Master's face; But glorified and strong by earthly hours spent Wherein it learned of pain, and sorrowing wept, And bowed by ills beyond its mortal strength to bear, attained to Pity; Of rhythmic form and sound, of wondrous lights and shades A symphony unmarred that traced within it Beauty: Of near ones dearer far than life or wealth or power, And Love, a flaming torch, flashed out athwart the soul, Lighting the path that finds the all within. Came face to fact with sin, its high resolves and strength o'ercome, Crushed in the dust its haughty pride, broken its wayward will. But from this mound of ashes wet with tears it comprehended Mercy. Beheld the stately gleam of midnight's starry arch, Round sun and sun's majestic march, briarht worlds unnumbered, And realized as by no other lesson taught, That order is the law that rules the works of God. Bowed down by mortal stress and care It cried aloud for help and pristine strength; And Faith amid the chaos of the soul was born, Lips moved in prayer, and reverent hearts In wondering awe gave thanks to God. And having grasped and tried to make its own, Love, Mercv, Pity, Faith, Order, Beauty and the power of Prayer, Clad in its faults and sin, its victories and enduring hopes, But glorified by all its mortal life had been and meant, Before the throne of God, the spirit, chained by the bands of earth no more, Stands, and with wide and seeing eyes Looks through a glass no longer darkly out on life ; ^ But, as the lightning cleaves the blackness of the night, Grasps the full meaning of the things that were, Of all that is and all that is to be: And worshiping falls at the Master's feet in voiceless thanks That while on earth its eyes had mercifully been dimmed, Else had it ne'er had strength its measured race to run Amid the vales where knowledge must be found, Shut out from all the beauty and the hope that heaven holds. Whv then should death be shunned, why met with trembling fear? He is no tyrant dread, with malice unrestrained,

AN INSPIRATION 1091 Who robs us of our dearest jewel, Life; Nay, but a friend, a wise baccalaureate bard Who chants the great commencement of the soul Hands our degree and opens wide the doors that bar The way to heights we long have striven to attain 'Twere but a sorry scheme of things and vain If when we close our eyes life's lamp no longer burns- If, when the grave enfolds our earthly, senseless clay, "Finis" is sculptured by the moving hand of Time, And we no more forever may become A part of that for which we felt we were. If this be true, what sees and feels and loves? What thrills within us as we watch the infant dawn? What works and strives and will not be denied? What reverent bows at Nature's mystic shrine? What laughs aloud for very joy of life? What overcomes the stress of earthly fear? What weeps for joy at music's melting strain? The That which makes us each a separate star? No; as we live today and move and are, Think you tomorrow shall no longer shine? Though we be ashes, triumphant from the dust The spirit soars to realms untouched by Time. That life is but a continuation, our birth but a door leading out of the spiritual into the temporal, and death but a swinging portal leading back into the realms of primal being, is one of the difficult truths of existence to grasp. Particularly the latter ; else why has death such universal terror for the children of men? If we knew definitely that death was but a dark passage into eternity, would it not be more welcome? Would we not rejoice with the honored one departed rather than bid him God speed with sorrow- ing and tears ? Yet, in a true philosophy of life, this knowledge of a spiritual pre-existence and a continuation of being after death must be the corner stone. Mortal mind unaided can not fully grasp the meaning of this, and only by inspired guidance has it been possible for the human heart to comprehend even a part of its significance ; still, scientific reasoning rightly applied carries us far along the pathway of this truth. For when carefully analyzed the facts on which a conclusion must be based point more strongly to a pre-existent state than otherwise. In carrying on any investigation one or more basic facts must be admitted, or taken for granted, and in our search for the true genesis of man we have the incontrovertible evidence of life itself as a starting point. Therefore, taking life, with all its manifold variations, and working back, we come at length to a point where we must admit one of two things, either it began spontaneously, an evolution of something from nothing, or it is a continuation of pre-existent life. In a vain endeavor to disprove the latter theory, many splendid intellects have spent years of time in thought and research, and life down to its most primitive vegetable cell has

1092 IMPROVEMENT ERA been investigated. But no scientific proof has as yet been pro- duced that bears out the theory in any way that that cell, in the beginning, evolved itself out of nothing, that that life, feeble, al- most unrecognizable as such though it be, is the child of spon- taneous generation. This being true, there is only one solution left: we are confronted by the condition life, it did not generate itself, therefore it must have been brought and planted here from some other sphere, or state, or planet. This much being granted, that life in its lowliest manifestation, at least, must have been transferred from some other place, is it then such a difficult thing to believe, even though difficult of definite scientific demonstration, that life in its highest form — man, did not also exist in some pre- mortal sphere of action and came here to continue its development along broader lines? Look around you. Whence come the gifts and graces which inspired men and women possess? Surely not from the earthly experiences which have been vouchsafed them. As you listen to the vibrant chords of some splendid anthem, ringing through vaulted architraves, has your inmost soul not felt it was but an echo of more wondrous music still, which the spirit of the musician, remembering, worked out in earthly form? And is this not equally true of the greatest and noblest in sculpture, painting, literature? but as we see or read or hear a something wells up within testifying to the immortality of the inspiration behind the outward form. A child is born; what is it? Physically a mass of cel- lular units, the result of the union of positive and negative bodies. These, multiplying, dif- ferentiating, specializing, grow finally into the image in mini- ature of its creators. This we know, it can be studied step by step, cell by cell, with microscope and scalpel. The whole process from conception to birth is un- derstood, each cycle analyzed and tabulated — nothing mysterious or unknown — nothing except one little link. The link that makes the chain complete and binds together all and holds it there as one. The that which animates it and makes all the rest possible, the that which we call life, this we do not comprehend. No JOHN A. BATES

AN INSPIRATION 1093 microscope so powerful it lays the secret bare, no scale so delicate that its weight can be recorded, no chemistry so subtle or pro- found that with crucible, reagent, or flame, it spells the riddle for us. It comes, we know not how nor whence, and with it comes a something even more wonderful, more mysterious than life itself — the individual. If we can not explain life what are we to say of this incomprehensible manifestation of it? From where does it spring with all its intimate personal traits, powers, weaknesses? How are we to explain it, where turn for an analogy ? Surely not to nature, for neither among the fauna nor flora of earth do we find anything that even approaches man in his versatility, his adapt- ability, his powers of advancing from one stage of development to a higher, or his weakness in falling into bottomless sloughs of infamy, beyond power of description. A rose is a rose, some more beautiful than others, some more prolific, others breathing a fragrance unsurpassed; but all roses, with no thought or aspira- tion of being other than they are. The same may be said of fish, fowl and beast, each in his separate estate is- what he is without either desire or power to change or better it. While we may say, as of the rose, all men are men, here the analogy ceases, for all men are different in a fundamentally different way than one rose differs from another, one fish from its fellows, one eagle from the rest of its kind. And heredity, environment, training, all com- bined can not take from the individual his personality, mold John into the entity known as William. Would a whole life's labor change an Edison into a Michael Angelo? Would a thousand years of toil transmute a Caruso into an Edison, or make an Abra- ham Lincoln out of Beethoven ? No, each is what he is, as far as the corner stone of his being is concerned, not because of any conscious willing, and not because of any possible training, but because of that for which he strove and to which he attained in the spirit world, before he reached the stage of development where the necessity for a body became imperative for further pro- gression : and each put into tangible form here much of that upon which he had thought and labored there. Understand me, train- ing, self-development and control, brought out and glorified the gifts within, but had nothing to do with the placing of those gifts there. And this but brings me to the subject of my sketch. He is surely but one more example to demonstrate that for which I contend, that the spark of fire, called life, is but a ray of light shin- ing within that burned with even greater radiance before it topk upon it mortal form. The gifts so lavishly bestowed upon him came not from an earthly source, nor from any effort put forth by him here. They were his by right, because of that which he

1094 IMPROVEMENT ERA had achieved before his feet turned to earth in the upward path of his development. To all intents and purposes he was a mere child, only sev- enteen, and in the beauty and purity of his life he retained much of the loveliness of an unspoiled child. But with this innocence was combined a strength of character, a resolute courage, and an enduring faith, such as is sel- dom seen in even older and wiser ones. For some time be- fore his death, about three years, he knew that the sword of Damocles hung over him, that in very truth his life hung by a thread. Yet his cheerful, happy spirit was not over- shadowed by this knowledge, and even when bowed by suf- fering, which was often the case, no complaining word or petulant outburst against a fate so seemingly unkind ever marred the sweet serenity of his soul. I may add that it was during this time of almost constant suffering that the spirit of his genius found defi- nite expression. It may truly be said that he was one of the Lord's chosen ones. From earliest childhood he had ever loved the beautiful, particularly things beautiful, because of purity of line. But it was in his fifteenth year that the power within began to manifest itself in tangible form. During his last year in the grades he began to mold and the results, so much better than the usual run of eighth grade work, attracted instant attention, and some special effort was ap- plied to its development. The next fall he entered high school ?nd every aid and encouragement possible was given him. The work was often interrupted by ill-health and all the time he was under medical supervision ; strict rules, covering all his activities, being followed. Where one might have expected re- bellion, or at least complaint, for all of the activities of a keen, life-loving boy were interdicted, there was only a cheerful acquies- cence to the inevitable. And here we find an index to his charac- ter: there were no excuses for not playing ball, running, jumping or taking part in the usual sports of boyhood. He just did not do them, yet thereby lost none of the interest in the life of the boy friends around him. As I look back upon it, I marvel how he BATES MODEL OF BRIGHAM YOUNG

AN INSPIRATION 1095 managed it so well. Physically, he appeared to be a vigorous, healthy, growing boy, with ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes ; the dangerous heart lesion, unheralded by any outward sign, worked its deadly will within. The type one would place as a leader in athletics, he put this all behind him with smiling lips, and did with his might, yes beyond his might, what he could do. And what he could do was an inspiration in itself. He had no training to all intents, the modeling in the eighth grade, one year in high school, where he carried on most of the studies of the year, and part of the following year in high school, was all the time devoted to his art. This was not continuous, as sickness often compelled him to lay the work aside. That he achieved not- able results can not be denied; after his first year in high school, he took two first prizes at the state fair in the student division ; but his actual achievements are only the faintest foreshadowings of the promise he gave, had he but been spared to bring it to full fruition. The Indian heads he himself composed without models. Those of President Brigham Young and President Wilson were MODELS BY JOHN A. BATES worked out from photographs. President Wilson thought so highly of his own that he wrote a personal letter of encourage- ment to the young sculptor. The bust was taken from life and the Venus de Milo from a model. This was his last work. While putting the finishing touches on it and preparing the mold he con- tracted the illness which terminated fatally.

1096 IMPROVEMENT ERA His life was replete with heroic endeavor ; he made much of small opportunities and little of great obstacles; he smiled at in- firmity and plucked unscathed the rose of achievement, amid the thorns of adverse circumstances. Young man, when you feel you can do no more, when the forces of defeat surge around you, think of John Bates, remember what he did and how he did it; pray for like determination and courage, and there will be little you righteously desire in life that vou cannot attain. AUTUMN LEAVES ARE FALLING