The following is a tribute given at his funeral by Sylvan Burgi written by Alta Parish Glade, a daughter:
He was small of stature, five feet seven was all he stood,
But he accomplished as much as most any man could.
He only weighed one forty five, but was as active as any man alive.
He could always find something to do,
And how to work was one thing he knew.
He toiled from early morn till night,
And he’d never do anything if he thought it not right.
He was hones in his dealing with men,
And he was always in harmony with the gospel plan.
He scattered gladness and sunshine along his way,
And he brought joy to the hearts of those who listened to what he had to say.
He was a man with a heart of gold,
And a character that couldn’t be bought nor sold.
Seasoned with toil, sorrow and sweat,
Somehow he didn’t look old, just yet.
With seventy one years written across his brow,
Only death has stilled his earthly labors now.
But he will go on in the eternal realm,
And may you find peace, knowing that God is at the helm.
He was small of stature, five feet seven was all he stood,
But he accomplished as much as most any man could.
He only weighed one forty five, but was as active as any man alive.
He could always find something to do,
And how to work was one thing he knew.
He toiled from early morn till night,
And he’d never do anything if he thought it not right.
He was hones in his dealing with men,
And he was always in harmony with the gospel plan.
He scattered gladness and sunshine along his way,
And he brought joy to the hearts of those who listened to what he had to say.
He was a man with a heart of gold,
And a character that couldn’t be bought nor sold.
Seasoned with toil, sorrow and sweat,
Somehow he didn’t look old, just yet.
With seventy one years written across his brow,
Only death has stilled his earthly labors now.
But he will go on in the eternal realm,
And may you find peace, knowing that God is at the helm.
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