"I believe in the immortality of the soul. I believe in the religion of humanity. Yes, on the far away rim of eternity, Faith seeks a beckoning hand and the human heart pulses anew with inspiration and unfaltering belief in the immortality of the soul. Let us believe there are songs sung and harps touched and kisses given and greetings exchanged in that other world. It is better that all other words should turn to ashes upon the lips of man rather than the word immortality. Our hearts once filled with this belief--this great truth--then every tear becomes a jewel, the darkest night flees before the breaking dawn and every hope turns into reality.
"Before us, my friends, lies the dust of the dead--Grant Jones. Away from home--away from father and mother, brother and sister--far up in these hills where the shoulders of the mountains are clothed with treacherous banks of sliding snow--he was here seeking to carve out a destiny for himself, in the morning of early manhood. The Kismet of his life, clothed in mystery, caused him to lay down his tools and leave to others his but partially accomplished mission. He was journeying upward toward life's mountain-crest--already the clouds were below him and the stars about him. For do we not know from his gifted writings that this man held communion with the gods? His heart beat full of loftiest hope. And then--even before high twelve--he fell asleep. He is gone; but a myriad of memories of his achievements gather thick about us. We see him as he was, and this virion will abide with us throughout the years.
"He was a student and a scholar. He read books that had souls in them--he read books that converse with the hearts of men and speak to them of an exalted life--a life that unfolds an ethical and a higher duty incumbent upon the children of men. He knew much about the literature of his day--was acquainted with the great authors through their writings. Keats was his favorite poet, Victor Hugo his favorite prose author and 'Les Misérables' his favorite book. Music had a thrilling charm for him. To his heart it was the language of the eternal. He heard songs in the rocks of towering cliffs, in primeval forests, in deep gorges, in night winds, in browned grasses and in tempestuous storms and in the pebbled mountain brooks.