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 Frank Hillard Dyer

Frank Hillard Dyer

Birth
Death 25 Mar 1892 (aged 37)
Burial Salt Lake City, Salt Lake County, Utah, USA
Plot O_174_3
Memorial ID 158282 · View Source
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The Salt Lake Tribune
Monday, March 28, 1892
page 5

FUNERAL OF FRANK H. DYER

A very Great Concourse Assembled at the Last Sad Hours

Remarks Made By Sorrowing Friends

The Rev. W. M. Lane Officiates - Commissioner Norrell's Eloquent Tribute - The Large Cortege and Its Fine Escort - Judge Judd's Remarks at the Grave - A Profusion of Flowers

The remains of the Hon. Frank H. Dyer were interred at Mount Olivet cemetery yesterday afternoon, under the auspices of the A.F. and A.M. The eulogy over the dead was delivered by Hon. A. G. Norrell at the late residence of the deceased at 144 South Sixth East street. The casket, early in the day, was placed on a bier in the yard, in order that those who desired to take a farewell view of the features of Mr. Dyer could do so. The day was pleasant and a soft wind whispered through the pines, while the rays of sunlight were held in check by a somber canopy above the bier. During the day thousands of people paid their tribute of respect to the memory of the deceased. Men of all grades and walks of life, representatives of the manifold professions and callings, took their last look at the well-known features of the dead. Employer and employee touched elbos to do homage to the departed. Men, women and children passed in continuous streams around the bier. The close relation of Mr. Dyer to the masses of the people was manifest upon every side throughout the day. He was essentially a man of the people and the tears which fell from eyes unused to weep; the unexpressed grief which spoke from pallid faces and compressed lips, attested the estimation in which he was held by his late fellow citizens.

It was 2:30 o'clock before Rev. W. M. Lane stepped to the porch of the deceased's late home, and raising his hands to command the attention of the hundreds of people who stood in the yard and street, read the Episcopal funeral rite. A solemn hush fell over the people. Men bared their heads to the sunlight and everybody listened attentively to the speaker. At the conclusion of the beautiful Episcopal rite, the voices of Messrs. Pyper, Whitney, Goddard and Spencer blended in the divine melody, "I Need Thee Every Hour." Rev. Mr. Lane then knelt in prayer. Miss Snyder sang "Shall We Meet Beyond the River." Her pure, clear voice rose and fell with fervent cadence. Rev. Mr. Lane again arose and said:

Friends and Fellow Citizens - We have met today to pay our last tribute of respect upon the bier of a noble soul, a true husband, a loving father and grand character. Eternity alone will disover to you the worth of our friend and brother. Hearts will mourn his departure, lives will be vacant of his presence, but his works will live after him. He had the elements of a true man, a grand character, and from personal experience, I knew him to be a true and loving man. As a clergyman of the gospel I never called on him for any assistance toward the help or support of the poor but his pocket was open, his heart was free. There are poor in this city who will miss him in his death, and where shall I find a man who will take his place in supplying their wants? His spirit has gone to God. We commit his body to the earth with all the honors due such a noble, grand and true man. And now his friend and fellow countryman will speak to you more eulogistically than I - Judge Norrell.

The words came from the speaker's heart and tears stood in his eyes while he talked. Mr. Norrell arose and began his eulogy in a calm, clear tone of voice. Every word which fell from his lips touched responsive chords in the hearts of his listeners. Mr. Norrel said:

My Friends - In rising to say a few workds on this occasion it is in the performance of the saddest and most sorrowful duty that has ever fallen to my lot. But I desire to pay my tribute to the memory of our departed friend, and when I speak of him it carries me back to other times and other scenes. Away over east of the gret Rocky range, down in the land of sunshine and flowers, our boyhood days began; and standing then, where we stood looking up the (illegible) of life, how beautiful and how promising was the future. Young, buoyant and ambitious, we promised ourselves the full fruition of our hopes and the unstunted growth of our ideal manhood. To him, our dead friend, always full of hope and never doubting his own ability, the future was especially full of promise, and he took upon himself the duties and obligations of a man almost before he had reached man's estate. He never looked back, trembling from fear of disaster, but always presed forward, grasping for and refusing anything less than success. In his organism failure had no place. What to other men appeared doubtful to him was assured. He met opposition and overcame it as a pastime. He would lay down his lance to no foe, and he would spend his time, talent and means in defense of a friend. His nature was such that he might despise, but he never reached the point of hatred. Open, frank and manly, he never resorted to subterfuge, but met all conditions with that directness and promptituted that gave tone to his character.

My friends, Frank H. Dyer was the full measure of a man. He had reached, at the early age of 35 years, that station that not many men attain to. Thickly beset with opposition and adversity, he struggled upward to success. All along the highway of life he found the wrecks of human endeavor scattered, but they begot no fear, and his advance was only accelerated and his determination increased by their presence. With precision, with accuracy and with unerrring judgement he threaded the labyrinthian way of life to its close, and when the end came he had prepared for it with that same clear foresight which had characterized him ever.

He loved his friends as he did himself, and they were confirned to no class and no condition in life. Everywhere, in every sect and creed and among all vocations of life his friends were found, and all loved and admired him for the same reasons, viz., his brave but gentle nature, his open-handed generosity, his devotion to prinicple and his unwavering (illegible) to his friends. That he was almost prodigal in his charities, many and many of the poor and indigent of the communities in which he lived can attest, and yet he sounded no trumpet when he bestowed alms, and kept no account against the donees. No individual, of whatever condition, having convinced him of the righteousness of his cause ever went away empty handed. His purse strings were loose at all times to the poor and needy. There ware unnumbered hearts in this community today weeping with sorrow at his loss and glowing with happiness at the rememberance of his unheralded deeds of kindness. And for all these he asked no return; he expected no favor except the gratitude of a sincere heart. When the light went out of those eyes and the spirit from his body, who can estimate the number of hearts that wept tears of bood. Deep down in the hearts of thousands where the tender passions spring will love and gratitude for him remain to the end of time; and as long as memory shall walk the chambers of the brain and people it with found images of the past, so long will the recollection of him and his good deeds be implanted there.

I need not speak to you of his early life; the press has told you. It is unnecessary for me to refer to his business relations here; that is an open book and has been red by the whole community. He has passed away. His busy life is spent. He has met the (illegible) foe before whom he would sheath his sword. He has passed over the river into the great unknown, and the world is better that he has lived. As the years come and go we shall always listlessly be waiting for "the touch of a vanished hand; for the sound of a voice that is still." Yes,

Waiting, and waiting, and waiting -
What a lonely word is await
Tis the herald of many a heartbreak'
Tis the soul-sob of many a fate.

And over and over is echoed
The sorrowful, sad refrain;
We're waiting, and waiting, and waiting,
Yet ever we're waiting in vain...

The cortege then started to Mt. Olivet cemetery in the following order: Dyer Rifles, detachment of police, carriage of Rev. Lane, carriage of pallbearers, Judge T. J. Anderson, W. S. McCornick, O. W. Powers, P. H. Lannan, P. L. Williams, J. W. Whitehead, George A. Lowe and E. A. Smith; hearse, A.F. & A.M., Denhalter Rifles, Company E (illegible) Infantry...Bingham I.O.O.F., carriages of relatives and friends, citizens on foot.
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  • Imported from: UT State Historical Society
  • Added: 2 Feb 2000
  • Find A Grave Memorial 158282
  • Find A Grave, database and images (https://www.findagrave.com : accessed ), memorial page for Frank Hillard Dyer (5 Sep 1854–25 Mar 1892), Find A Grave Memorial no. 158282, citing Mount Olivet Cemetery, Salt Lake City, Salt Lake County, Utah, USA ; Maintained by Utah State Historical Society (contributor 4) .