hority so patient and so self-distrustful. Never was so
experienced and learned a man so little conscious of his greatness.

"This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word:
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen,
On the deathless page, truths half so sage,
As he wrote down for men."

At length--at one hundred and twenty years of age, with undimmed eye and
unabated strength, after having done more for his nation and for
posterity than any ruler or king in the world's history, and won a fame
which shall last through all the generations of men, growing brighter
and brighter as his vast labors and genius are appreciated--the time
comes to lay down his burdens. So he assembles together the princes and
elders of Israel, recapitulates his laws, enumerates the mercies of the
God to whom he has ever been loyal, and gives his final instructions. He
appoints Joshua as his successor, adds words of encouragement to the
people, whom he so fervently loves, sings his final song, and ascends
the mountain above the plains of Moab, from which he is permitted to
see, but not to enter, the promised land; not pensive and sad like
Godfrey, because he cannot enter Jerusalem, but full of joyous visions
of the future glories of his nation, and breaking out in the language of
exultation, "Who is like unto thee, O people saved by Jehovah, the
shield of thy help and the sword of thy excellency!" So Moses, the like
of whom no prophet has since arisen (except that later One whom he
himself foretold), the greatest man in Jewish annals, passes away from
mortal sight, and Jehovah buries him in a valley of the land of Moab,
and no man knoweth his sepulchre until this day.

"That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
But no one heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth,--
Perchance the bald old eagle
On gray Bethpeor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie
Looked on the wondrous sight."

* * * * *

"And had he not high honor--
The hillside for a pall--
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall;
And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand, in that lonely land,
To lay him in the grave?"

*