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 sepulchre, 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 the bald old eagle On grey Beth-peor"s heightOut of his lonely eyrieLooked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalkingStill 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 drums,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 honoured place, With costly marble dressed,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 high honour- 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,In that strange grave without a name,Whence his uncoffined clay
Shall break again-oh, wondrous thought!- Before the judgment-day,And stand with glory wrapt around On the hills he never trod,And speak of the strife that won our life With the Incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab"s land !
O dark Beth-peor"s 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 hidden sleep Of him He loved so well.
Mrs. Alexander.
Author.-Mrs. Cecil Francis Alexander was an Irish writer of hymns; born in County Wicklow, 1818; married the Archbishop of Armagh; died 1895. Other well-known poems of hers are "All Things Bright and Beautiful," "Once in Royal David"s City," " There is a Green Hill far away."General.-This, strangely enough, was Mark Twain"s favourite poem.
The scriptural allusions can be understood by reading the 34th chapter of Deuteronomy; and the geographical allusions by consulting a map of Palestine. " No man knoweth his sepulchre." Write an essay mentioning various men (Sir John Franklin, Ludwig Leichhardt, etc.), to whom this saying would also apply. What claims had Moses to the titles of " truest warrior," " most gifted poet," " sage philosopher"? What served the purposes of pall, tapers, plumes? Who were in the procession? Which is the most majestic stanza? Which breathes of quiet? Which gives the greatest praise to Moses?
