CIII. THE BURIAL OF MOSES. "And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Bethpeor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." Deut. xxxiv. 6. - By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, 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 Comes when the 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, So, without sound of music Or voice of them that wept, Perchance the bald old eagle, On gray Bethpeor's height, Looked on the wondrous sight. Perchance the lion, stalking, Still shuns that hallowed spot For beast and bird have seen and heard But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drum, Follow the funeral car. They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, Amid the noblest of the land Men lay the sage to rest, With costly marble dressed. In the great minster transept,* Where lights like glories fall, And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings This was the bravest warrior This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word; Traced, with his golden pen, On the deathless page truths half so sage *Minster transept. A minster is a cathedral church. The ground plan of these is usually in the form of a cross, with one long aisle and a short one crossing it. The cross aisle is called the transept. The transept divides the long aisle into two unequal parts; the longer of which is called the nave, and the other the choir. And had he not high honor? The hill side 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, Shall break 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 O lonely tomb in Moab's land, 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. CIV.-DAVID AND GOLIATH. MISS HANNAH MORE. [Hannah More was born at Stapleton, England, in 1745, and died in 1833. She wrote much in prose and verse, and her works are highly commendable for their elevated moral tone and genuine religious feeling.] Goliath. Where is the mighty man of war, who dares Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief? What victor king, what general drenched in blood, Has he to boast? Is his bright armory Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail Twill sweeten death To know he had the honor to contend With Gath's triumphant champion. Come, advance. Direct my sight. I do not war with boys. David. I stand prepared - thy single arm to mine. Goliath. Why, this is mockery, minion! it may chance To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee! But tell me who of all this numerous host Expects his death from me? Which is the man Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance? David. Th' election of my sovereign falls on me. Goliath. On thee! On thee! By Dagon, 'tis too much! Thou curled minion; thou a nation's champion! David. I do defy thee, Thou foul idolater! Hast thou not scorned The armies of the living God I serve? By me he will avenge upon thy head Thy nation's sins and thine. Armed with his name, That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood. Goliath. (Ironically.) Indeed! 'tis wondrous well. Now, by my gods, The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy, Keep close to that same bloodless war of words, And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior, They for their lost Adonis may mistake Thy dainty form. David. Peace, thou unhallowed railer; * Judges xvi. |