Bud served his country, his community, his family, and his church faithfully. The large number of people who attended his memorial service spoke volumes about this remarkable man. He served as a beacon to all who suffer in silence. May he truly rest in peace. I thought this little poem by Tennyson might be a fitting tribute to my friend, Bud.
Copyright © Jay D Weaver - December 17, 2002
|
| He Stood Tall |
Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream; but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson