I came to the office not to hear the statement that Brother Powell was very sick, but the astounding announcement “Brother Powell is dead.”  This was indeed terrible; but the memory of Brother Powell has not been darkened with the thought of sickness, but remains with us just as he was in health and vigor.  We still think of the quick step with which he came into the office, the hearty cheer with which he greeted us, the pleasant face that shone not only at the door, but through the whole day.  He was a busy worker, as has been said, but ever and always the same bright face, the same cheerful heart, the same warm love, the same readiness to help bear everybody’s load, went through the long day.  If you have ever spent a day in the mountains, with its breezy temperature, and yet with the sun filling the whole blue heavens and shining on all things—­water, mountain, valley, tree and grass—­if that day has left its memory of brightness and sweetness in your heart, such is the memory left on us in the office by Brother Powell.

I must speak of his faithfulness as a worker.  It has been referred to in better language than I can give, but Brother Powell was indefatigable; he knew no rest; when he toiled until the string snapped he would go down into a sickness that lasted usually just six days; then he would rise as quickly.  This one instance will show how he sacrificed himself.  On one Sabbath he preached two or three times; then on Monday he sank down in a six days’ illness, but on the next Sabbath morning he had agreed to preach in Mr. Beecher’s church in Brooklyn, and taking himself out of his bed, he did preach in that church twice, and then sank down into another six days’ illness.  It was in this way that the man burned out his life in the service.  I often urged him to rest, I urged his dear wife to persuade him to rest, but I always had from him the assurance, “It is more wearisome to spend the day in trying to rest than to work.”  He always worked at a white heat or he was sick.

Brother Powell was a consecrated man, and with this I shall close.  His eloquence was appreciated.  He had calls to go elsewhere, to greater fields with larger salary, to apparently greater popularity, but these he always and unhesitatingly declined.  He stayed with us, and I believe that it was Brother Powell’s sympathy with the Lord Jesus Christ in those poor, degraded races that led him to say, I will give my life to them and let the honors and emoluments of the world go.  Such was the man we loved and honored in our hearts.

EULOGY BY PRESIDENT TAYLOR.

I knew Brother Powell, of whom the friends have spoken so beautifully, touching our hearts so deeply.

I was most impressed by two things in Brother Powell—­his radiant joyousness and his delightful humor, and the ease with which he could make the transition from the telling of a funny story to the uttering of a devout prayer, thus leading others with him up to the very steps of the throne of grace.