first, but
then he grew restless, and the doctor permitted visitors. There were
many, and as he was making no progress, he was moved to the old family
home in North Marshfield, near Cape Cod. There as a boy he had roamed
the spacious, rambling house and the bright fields, and there his
parents had lived the last twenty-five years of their lives. The lovely,
old home with its atmosphere of peace brought back many tender memories.
In the absolute quiet of these surroundings which he loved, he lingered
some two weeks. With another attack he lapsed into unconsciousness, and
his boyhood friend, the late Dean Philemon F. Sturges of Boston, came
down to be with the family. On the morning of October 31st as the end
approached, Dean Sturges knelt beside him and in the dear familiar words
of the Prayer Book said, "Lift up your hearts," and the family bravely
responded, "We lift them up unto the Lord." The Dean continued, "It is
very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should at all times, and
_in all places_, give thanks unto Thee, O Lord." It was meet and right
that Frank Nelson should depart this life on such a note of
thanksgiving.

At the burial in Cincinnati, November Third, the parish, life-long
friends, and representatives of the city thronged Christ Church not to
say "Farewell," but "Hail!", for as Alfred Segal grandly put it, "He was
like one going away to gather in his victory." For a night and a day
preceding the service, his body lay in the beautiful chapel of his own
creation, and great numbers of men, women and children of all faiths
came to pay a final tribute. The burial service was the same as he
himself had always used, only read now by his successor, and the Bishop
of the Diocese. To his friends and beloved people it all seemed passing
strange if not unreal. Frail beings that we are, we had never sensed
more than a vague possibility that his ministry would one day terminate.
It was not past human knowing, of course, but it was beyond the grasp of
human imagining that the day would come when Frank Nelson would no
longer walk the city's streets, no longer hurry to the distant suburbs.
We felt this way because in an unusual sense men loved this servant of
the servants of God in Cincinnati who had dwelt among them for forty
years. Yet the great congregation rose above human grief and surmounted
the consciousness of personal loss in the tremendous note of triumph and
thankfulness that prevailed throughout the