THE KING’S BURIAL.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXII, Issue 842, 21 May 1910, Page 2

THE KING’S BURIAL.

LOCAL MEMORIAL SERVICE

“ The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e’r gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour, The paths of glory lead but n the grave.

“ Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can honour’s voice provoke the silent dust. Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death.”

Yesterday the mortal remains of King Edward VII., were laid to rest in the throbbing heart of the Empire. We can only draw upon the imagination to picture the silence that fell upon industrial London as the ceremony took place, the tolling bells and ceaseless tramp of millions of muffled feet accompanied by the sob of solemn music. The assembling in Loudon of the National representatives at yesterday’s ceremonial emphasised our late King’s greatness and influence. Throughout the vast Empire simultaneous services were held and the heads of the people were bowed with sorrow and their hearts were touched with sympathy for the bereaved Royal household. The saddening event has its lessons ; it draws the cords of unity still closer round Throne and Empire ; cold relentless death is no respecter of persons—but comes alike to prince and pauper. Edward the Peacemaker sleeps with his fathers.

The local public memorial service, held at Victoria Park yesterday afternoon was attended by upwards of a thousand people. At about 2 p.m. the band marched up Main Street to the school and met the cadets and school children and played them to the starting point, in front of the Post Office, The marshal, Mr A. D. Clemett, arranged the procession in the following order: —School cadets, under Cap. Gabites, the sturdy little fellows looked very neat aud carried themselves with military precision and with arms reversed ; then came the band at the head of which was drum-Major McCall, aud Bandmaster Golder; Mayor aud Councillors, local Clergy ; Druids ; Oddfellows ; Masons ; school children, under headmaster Jackson and staff; citizens and Mounted-Constable Woods. Crowds of people lined the road to the Park. The band played the “Garland of Flowers’’ and “Dead March” cu route. At the assembling ground in the Park the cadets formed a square round the improvised platform which was neatly draped. Seated on the platform were the Anglican, Presbyterian and Methodist Ministers and the organist, Miss Jenks, and the combined choirs were assembled within the square. The baud opened the proceedings by playing the “Garland of Flowers.” The Rev. G. K. Aitken announced the opening hymn, “When our heads are bowed in woe”; the Rev. P. J. Mairs then read Psalm XC., after which the hymn “ Rock of Ages" was sung. The Rev. G. K.. Aitken then offered up an appropriate prayer, the assemblage joining in by repeating the Eord’s Prayer. The same minister then read a portion of scripture from I. Cor., XV, The hymn “ Nearer my God to Thee,” was suug and an address was given by the Rev- G. Y. Woodward, who took for his text, Isaiah 38., 10., “I Shall go into the Gates of the Grave.’’ He said it was the spirit of a true nationalism that had brought them together ; the boast and glory of the nation had suddenly been taken away, and the heart of our vast empire was touched with profound grief. He then explained how that in our national sorrow Holy Scripture gave us something which, when rightly understood, really made this day of mourning a day of national glory. Ezekiel, Isaiah, and St. John all brought out the striking idea of the deeds and works of a nation passing with the Monarch into the restored Zion — the nations bringing their wealth into it, and the Kings of the earth their glory. As an empire we had watched our own Royal Edward pass through those mystical gates into the grave, and with him the glory of his reign, and every British heart, with absolute sincerity, could thank Almighty God for the happiest, brightest and best reign ever known to the English nation. Both King and nation had striven for peace. The speaker went on to say that the passing away of Edward VII. struck a blow not only to the unnumbered millions of his vast Empire, but to the world at large. In the political crisis of the Mother Country, in the restlesness of the Powers, in the eagerness for supremacy, we had lost one, and the only one of the crowned heads of Europe, who was able, by his wisdom and tact, to stay political upheaval, and to ward off the awful depression and bloodshed of war. As they looked at their beloved King, lying beautiful in his regal splendour, the heart of the Empire was stirred, and they knew that they had lost one of the wisest and best monarchs that ever adorned the annals of any nation. They could see him passing through the gates of the grave, taking with him the glory of his reign, and round his name an aureole of glory shone, for the voice of the people placed him with the immortal great. The preacher then led his hearers to the ancient Abbey of Westminster, built in 1065 by our great national saint, Edward the Confessor. To Westminster, the sepulchre of kings and queens, of warriors and

statesmen, of poets and saints, with its marvellous masonry, standing erect in its solemn greyness, a monument of the faith of our fathers, a temple of the great in the heart of throbbing London. Through its colossal doors, up its lofty aisles, we pass to the shrines ot England’s glory, of England’s boast, and in that sacred edifice made honourable with the ashes of the dead and the dust of ages, before us, was an open vault, the garland bed of a king of peace. In the solemn committal we bow the head in reverence while over the seas floats the whispering message that tells us that the grave has received its dead. “We therefore commit his body to the ground —earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ.” And there we leave our noble King buried with a nation’s love. At peace with men, at peace with God, asleep in peace. His body is buried in peace, but his name liveth evermore, for over his resting place the unborn millions will read, ‘‘Edward the Peacemaker.” In conclusion, the preacher bade his hearers to turn from this pageant of mourning back again to the everyday life of their own little town. The spectacle could but enrich and enoble them, for now they were men and women with a wider vision. To do good, to be good, must be their aim, for in them was tlie wealth of nations. The sermon ended with an appeal to think more of those gates that were never shut by day or by night, into which the throbbing, heart-beating masses of the world were entering—towards them each one was walking to join in the high and glorious communion of Saints, and to unite their feeble voices with the symphonies of angels, but, above all, to meet Jesus, the King of kings and Lord of lords. There was nothing to fear, although “ I shall go into the gates of the grave.” Lord Tennyson, in an immortal poem, sang :

“ Spirit, nearing yon dark portal at the limit of thy human state,

Fear not thou the hidden purpose of that Power which alone is great. Nor the myriad world, His Shadow, nor the silent Opener of the Gate.”

The Rev Mr Mairs followed with another prayer, and the Rev G. K. Aitken announced the hymn, “Abide With Me,” after which the Benediction was pronounced by the Rev Mr Woodward. The final hymn was “O God Our Help in Ages Past,” The cadet buglers sounded the “East Post” which brought the proceedings to a close.