climbed to the summit, and a crisis approached big with the fate of America — it may be of the coming generations of the world. Lee had marched his army into Pennsylvania, and upon the field of Gettysburg, was to be determined whether the record of this republic should be rolled up and laid away among the things of the past, or whether there was still a mission for it to fulfill. In one of the most desperate struggles of that ever memorable engagement, Col. Taylor was at the head of his regiment leading a charge; his soul was fired and his eyes were flashing with the consciousness of the success which he foresaw was at hand; his sword pointed to the rebels in the front and the victory which lay beyond; words of triumph were upon his lips and — here he lies.
The triumph was for you and me, comrades, but not for him — unless it be that those who have passed the immortal gates still sometimes look back to rejoice in the good deeds they have done on earth. He did not live to see the fruition of that which his last thoughts seem to have anticipated. His career was short, and yet if those of us who may reach the alloted three score years and ten, should be able to point to a page as complete and unstained as that which bears his story, we may well be satisfied. He died too soon for the aged mother, whose light hands still often rest upon his grave, too soon, for the friends who still, as the evening shades deepen, talk in low tones of the brave heart that is gone — but not until the truth, beauty and nobleness of his character had made impressions that will last through time.
