It gives me very great pleasure thus to greet you, not being able to be present with you to enjoy your conversations. You are assmbled in the old home of so many sacred associations. Here mother and grandmother sat so many days in the old arm chair. Here the large open fireplace with its cheerful winter glow. Here stood the old sugar chest we boys loved so well. Here the tall bed where mother and son (Uncle Bryant) struggled with disease to the last and each in the hope of the resurrection. Well do I remember when the angel of death came, about 2 p.m. one Friday or Saturday of August 1881, to claim the spirit of the uncle we children held most dear. This is my first vivid recollection of the old home you are gathered in. Well do I recall the talk the now sainted man of God gave me as we sat on the fence near the milkhouse, Laying his hands on my head, while his tears were mingled with mine, Bro. Hastings, dear old man that he was, said, "Willie, this is the Lords' doings." That was all, but there it has staid ever since. Many words of good advice came from this hour, and remain with us, but the larger good has come from their example of active service in the S.S. and church. They lived for Christ and were "epistles known read" and honored "of all men." Uncle Bryant led the singing in the S.S. and grandpa had his class when I rode behind my father to join the infant class. The simple Bible gift of grandfather to each of his grand-children able then to read, left an impress for righteousness and eternal felicity that none can estimate. The sweet pervasiveness of the religion of grandmother is not lost. Oft in the fevered ferment of this world, when my spirit has become worn, my frame weary and my heart heavy even to breaking, there arises unbidden an intense longing to quit this dusty highway, watered only by tears of sorrow and disappointment for that rest that remaineth ****(can't make out) people of God. I'd depart and be with Christ and those other loved ones of the old home and of our own, who have gone ahead, would be a vast gain to us. Then we feel deeply the truth of Uncle Bryant's dying words, "The only reason I desire to live is to do more good to others." Some pray for grace to die. But when such a longing for others on the other side, and our loneliness without them seizes us, grace to live and to give us an ambition to live is what we need. Thank God for "My grace is sufficient for you," for without it there is no hope. We greet you today from our homes, from North to South and East to West. Some of us hail you from the far north where the great lakes wash our shores. Some where the balmy breezes of the orange groves of Cal. fan our cheeks. Some from the mountains that guard the ancestral home in North Carolina; others still from the prairies of the great Lone Star State. Scattered? yes, we are; (unreadable) united by one common tie of fealty and love to the old home and fmaily. Reunited; you are today. Such reunions I love and endorse. They are not of war but of peace. A reunited family! Yes, 'tis true, yet not true. Let us live for God so that when the angel's trump shall sound, calling us all home, there will be another reunion in the palaces of the King, with angels for our cup-bearers and our beloved dead for our companions. Then, and not till then, will there be no vacant chairs.