: so the days of
weeping in the mourning for Moses were ended.

And there hath not arisen a prophet since in Israel like unto Moses,
whom the Lord knew face to face; in all the signs and the wonders,
which the Lord sent him to do in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh, and to
all his servants, and to all his land; and in all the mighty hand, and
in all the great terror, which Moses wrought in the sight of all
Israel.

{274}

THE BURIAL OF MOSES

By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave.
And no man knows that sepulcher,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth:
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;

Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept.

Perchance that bald old eagle
On gray Beth-Peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie
Looked on the wondrous sight: {275}
Perchance the lion, stalking,
Stills shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute-gun.

Amid the noblest of the land
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place.
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazoned wall.

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.

And had he not 'nigh honor,--
The hillside for a pall,
To lie in state while angels wait,
With stars for tapers tall, {276}
And the dark r