In Loving Memory

                             of

                                 Pearl Dun

   ~ 1940 – 2005 ~

                                                                                  The Ship

                                                                                                                           by Luther Beecher

 

                                                                                                                         I am standing upon the seashore.  A ship at my side spreads her white

                                                                                                                        sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.  She is an

                                                                                                                        object of strength and beauty, and I stand and watch her until she is

                                                                                                                        only a ribbon of white cloud where the sea and the sky seem to mingle

                                                                                                                        with each other.

 

                                                                                                                        Then someone at my side says, "There, she's gone!"

 

                                                                                                                        Gone?  Gone where?  Gone from my sight, that's all.  She is just as

                                                                                                                        complete in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side,

                                                                                                                        and just as able to bear her precious freight to the place of

                                                                                                                        destination.  Her diminished appearance is in me-not her.

 

                                                                                                                       And at the very moment when someone at my side says, "There, she's

                                                                                                                       gone!", other voices shout with gladness, "Here she comes!"

 

                                                                                                                        And that is death.

 

                                                                                                                       Death is only a horizon, and a horizon is the limit of our sight.