THE WILLIAM MARRION BRANHAM
MEMORIAL SERVICE



January 26, 1966
Ramada Inn
Phoenix, Arizona


William Marrion Branham
April 6, 1909 - December 24, 1965




Eulogies: Billy Paul Branham - His Son,Roy H. Borders - Compaign Manager.
Memorial Message By: Evang. Tommy Osborn

JUST BEYOND THIS LAST BREATH
By: William Branham

The other morning I was lying on my bed, and I wondered what I would be like in that theophany, or celestial body. Would it be that I would see my precious friends, or would I see a little white fog going by and say, "There goes Brother Neville?" Could he say, "Hello, Brother Branham?" I often thought about that. I raised up on my pillow and put my head against the headboard of the bed, and I heard a voice say, "Would you like to see just beyond the curtin?"

I said, "It would help me so much." I looked, and in just a moment - one breath - I had come into what looked like a great big grassy field. I looked back and there I was, lying on the bed. I said, "This is a strange thing."

I looked this way and that, and people were coming by the thousands, running, screaming, "Oh, our precious brother." Young women, maybe in their early twenties, they were throwing their arms around me and screaming, "Our precious brother." Then came young men in the brilliance of young manhood. Their eyes glistening, looking like stars on a darkened night, their teeth as white as pearl, and they were screaming and grabbing me saying, "Oh our precious brother."

I stopped and looked at my hands, and I was young! I looked back at my old body lying there on the bed with my hands behind my head, and I said, "I don't understand this."

And then that voice that was speaking up above me said, "You know it is written in the Bible that the prophets were gathered with their people."

I said, "Yes, I remember that in the Scriptures."

He said, "This is when you will gather with your people."

I said, "Then they will be real, and I can feel them?"

"Oh yes,"
he said.

I said, "But there are millions, and there aren't that many Branhams." And that voice said, "They're not Branhams. They're your converts, the ones you have led to the Lord. Some of these women that are so beautiful were better than ninety years old when you led them to the Lord. No wonder they are screaming 'My precious brother."

I said, "Where is Jesus? I want to see Him so bad."

"Now, He is just a little higher, right up that way. You were sent for a leader, and some day God will come and He will judge you according to your teaching."

I said, "Does every leader have to be judged like that?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "What about Paul?"

He said, "He'll have to be judged with his."

"W ell," I said, "if his group goes in, so will mine, because I've preached exactly the same Word."

And millions screamed out, all at once, saying, "We're resting on that!"

All fear of death is gone. It would be a pleasure to be taken from this corruption and disgrace. I wish there was some way I could explain it to you, but just beyond this last breath is the most glorious thing. One visit there has made me a different man. I can never, never, never be the same Brother Branham that I was.

A PSALM OF LIFE

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle;
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, how e're pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,- in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'er head!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us,
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o're life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.


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