Norfolk Day Book

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 dug the sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angel 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 tramping,
Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes when the night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
Noiselessly as the springtime
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 the bald old eagle
On gray Bethpeor's height,
Out from his rocky eyrie
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking
Still 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 the 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
Men lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place,
With costly marble drest;
In the great minster-transept,
Where lights like glory fall,
And the choir sings and the organ rings
Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the bravest 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 high honor?
The hillside for his 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.

In that deep grave without a name
When his uncoffined clay
Shall breathe again (most wondrous
thought!)
Before the judgment day.
And stand with glory wrapped around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life
With the Incarnate Son of God.

O lonely tomb in Moab's land,
O dark Bethpeor hill;
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath His mysteries of grace--
Ways that we cannot tell;
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of him He loved so well.

Written for the Norfolk Day Book.